


Out of Space and Time

by Itsagoodthing (itzagoodthing)



Series: Out of Space and Time [1]
Category: The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Adventure, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Blood and Violence, Crazy Headcanon, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, No Bacta over here, Slow Burn, Sorry Not Sorry, Whump, happy endings, wormholes are tricky
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-04
Updated: 2020-06-04
Packaged: 2021-02-27 22:48:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 19
Words: 118,367
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22563529
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/itzagoodthing/pseuds/Itsagoodthing
Summary: He was a Mandalorian. If the helmet didn’t make that obvious, the Iron Heart on his chest plate sealed the deal for her. She didn’t have to ask if he was injured. It was impossible to miss the piece of metal shrapnel the length of her hand that was embedded in the side of his thigh. That, along with the standard sounds of someone in a lot of pain, was proof enough.
Series: Out of Space and Time [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1769332
Comments: 182
Kudos: 263





	1. Introductions and Confusing Conversations

**Author's Note:**

> Big fat disclaimer: I got the idea one day, and at first, I just brushed it off because it was way too crazy to pull off. Then the scenes kept compiling and I decided to write them out, still thinking it wasn’t ever going to go anywhere. Then, I turn around and I have over 15k words written. I’m not sure how it’s going to go over, but I hope someone out there likes the idea. 
> 
> The plot is: The Mandalorian gets sucked into an interdimensional wormhole and gets spit out in a dimension that is a mashup between his world and ours: Modern AU.

Stepping out into the dark, Pari Strart leaned against the railing of her front deck. Drawing in an easy breath, she sipped her coffee, trying to soak up as much of the warm night as she could. A southerly breeze kicked up, rustling the dry leaves scattered on the ground. Their lifeless rushing sound reminded her that it was still winter. Come dawn the winds will have switched back to the north, bringing with them a cold, sobering rain and killing the unseasonable warm snap.

Taking a sip, she listened to the frogs lured out of their muddy beds by the day’s deceiving heat. Their easygoing chirping croaks were one of her favorite nighttime sounds of late spring, and closing her eyes, she could almost convince herself the cold was behind them until the next dead season rolled around.

Pari pulled another drink from her cooling mug letting the winds push against her as another gust moved up from her pastures and swirled around the deck. They were already beginning to shift, and Pari frowned at the threads of cold that permeated her warm night.

The damn cold front was going to come in ahead of schedule.

She drew in one more mouthful of her drink, letting the creamy bitterness settle on her tongue and fill her senses before swallowing it down. Setting the mug on the railing, Pari tucked a piece of hair behind her ear and trotted down the steps. The next week was going to be in the twenties; lows hovering near zero if they were lucky. Bringing in a couple of days’ worth of firewood now would be better than later when the winds would feel like needles on her exposed skin.

The house had a heater but burning a fire during the daytime had cut her heating bills easily by half. Using the fireplace for heat wasn’t the most efficient use of the energy put off by the fire. She knew a good eight-five percent of the heat ended up escaping through the chimney and had long dreamt about installing a wood stove. Still, until that day came, the fireplace cranked out enough heat to make the small house warm enough to bypass the heater for more than eight hours at a time.

Heading back to the woodshed to load up her fourth load, Pari took a moment to retie her ponytail. She was tucking the same stubborn piece of hair behind her ear again when she heard the unmistakable sound of something punching through the planet’s atmosphere. 

Looking to the sky, she heard it before she ever had eyes on it. Walking out from under the canopy of trees, Pari stood in the middle of her open yard, searching the sky. If it weren’t for the cloudy night, she was sure she would have already spotted it.

Finding everything from meteors to starships in the sky was something she’d done many times over the past decade. Meteors usually burned themselves up upon entry and were rarely big enough to be any concern. Ships were far more frequent. Almost as if on cue, the craft broke through the low cloud deck, its twin engines creating the visual illusion of a streak of fire, scaring the cloudy night. Pari could tell by how low flew that it was headed for her property. It wasn’t a surprise.

Back when she and her husband had purchased the property, he had insisted on listing their open lands as an available Safeport for emergency landings. It was the only open space among millions of acres of forest. Every year, a few distant travelers needed to use her lands to set down.

It’s not as if she bought up advertising space on the holonet or erected flashing neon signs on all three moons broadcasting SPACESHIP DOCKING with the coordinates to her lands. The sight of an unfamiliar ship flying low in the sky always put her on edge, knowing that open generosity could usher in a potential of severe risks. Alternatively, she also knew how emergencies could happen to the best of us. When the worst of us had emergencies, well, then she had a friendly 12-gauge shotgun that she let make the introductions. 

Watching the ship hovering a hundred meters over her pasture, she turned and jogged back up to the house. The screen door slapped the frame behind her as she took Bert down from the rack on the wall.

Named by her daughter for a reason she still hadn’t discovered, Pari prepped the gun, and opening the drawer on her foyer table, she started selecting shells. Flipping it over, she inserted the cartridges into the loading flap, using the same combination as always: birdshot, buckshot, then slugs.

Birdshot wouldn’t do much damage, but it had a wide path and hurt enough to make most people think twice before advancing if she told them not to. If the birdshot didn’t convince them she meant business, then the buckshot would pepper them with a nice tight grouping and knock them on their ass. If that still didn’t do the trick, then the slugs would put them down, and they wouldn’t be getting back up.

Pumping one into the chamber, Pari checked the safety. Then, with the gun resting over her shoulder, she grabbed her flashlight and headed out to the ship.

* * *

Walking through the tall field grass, Pari called out. “Hello?”

The scraping sound of the long blades blown low by the warm breeze was the only thing that responded. Rounding the ship, she found the cargo ramp down, but no one was in sight. She paused to look around, almost expecting to see someone tinkering with the outside of the ship.

No one was there.

A feeling of unease stirred in her gut, and she pulled the gun down from her shoulder. Walking to the edge of the ramp, she shouted inside. “Hello? Anyone home?”

Her call moved through the vessel, sounding tinny and hollow as it bounced off its metal walls. The grass rustled, the frogs croaked, but she got no answer.

Pari didn’t like the silence. She knew the risks, knew there were trafficking rings that roamed the star systems. It could easily be a ploy to lure her inside the ship where she would find herself trapped, sold into slavery, and never see her family again. However, she also knew that, so far, landing in her field had always been a last resort maneuver. Someone might be hurt or sick, making them unable to answer.

Switching off the safety, Pari tucked the butt of the gun into her shoulder. Looking down the length of the barrel, she boarded the ship.

“Hello…” she called again as she walked through the cargo area. As she was trained, Pari looked left to right, high and low, clearing the space as she progressed further into the belly of the ship. She was making her way past the cargo area, about to call out again when a clambering noise ending in a shout came from the front.

Keeping her eyes alert, Pari upped her stride. About ten paces ahead, she found a man on the floor. He was lying at the base of a ladder, facing the wall, and she went to him.

She couldn’t see much about him, but he was straining to push himself up from the floor. For all his effort, he was getting nowhere fast. Sick or injured, Pari wasn’t sure yet, but looking up the ladder beside him, it was a safe bet the noise she’d heard was him falling from it.

“Hey, are you okay?”

He must have been too wrapped up in hurt to notice her before she spoke because then he was pulling his blaster and spun to hold it on her. That was fine. When he did, he found himself looking down the business end of her 12-gauge.

He was a Mandalorian. If the helmet didn’t make that obvious, the Iron Heart on his chest plate sealed the deal for her.

Pari didn’t have to ask if he was injured. It was impossible to miss the piece of metal shrapnel the length of her hand embedded into the side of his thigh. That, along with the standard sounds of someone in a lot of pain, was proof enough.

With an arm wrapped around his middle, the blaster in his other hand wavered as he used his good leg to scoot himself back against the wall. The guy was in full-on defense mode. It reminded her of a wounded animal trying to protect itself, and Pari decided it was going to be up to her to end their firearm standoff.

“Easy. I’m not going to hurt you,” Pari assured him. “Look, how about we put the weapons away so I can help you.”

Breaths coming out harsh and clipped, he didn’t reply, and he didn’t lower the blaster either.

“I just want to help you. Okay? Let me help you?” she asked, and then took a massive chance by starting to lower her gun first. It paid off as he began dropping the blaster in pace with her.

Keeping the safety off, Pari laid the gun down on the floor of the ship out of his reach. With her hands raised, she crept in closer. Speaking softly, she said, “It’s okay. You’re hurt. I just want to help you.”

By the time she was kneeling at his side, he’d dropped the blaster to the floor by his hip. A shoulder against the hull was the only thing keeping him semi-upright, and he choked on a gasp as he moved to push himself up higher. 

“Whoa, whoa,” Pari grabbed him, saying, “Let me look at you before you think you’re going to be getting up. I already see one injury that might have you bleeding out if we’re not careful. Okay?”

She tried coaxing him back by the grip she had on his arms. He resisted, and she had expected that. Being a warrior, the last thing he wanted was to lay prone in the company of someone he didn’t know, leaving him open and vulnerable.

Hoping to calm his apprehensions, Pari used her spooked-animal voice, “Easy, Mando. No one’s going to hurt you. You’re safe here. Lie back and let me get a look at you.”

The Mandalorian breathed heavy and ragged as he stared at her. Pari urged him back with another push against his arms, and he let her ease him down to the deck of the ship.

Watching her as she looked at the metal in his leg, he asked, “Are you a Healer?”

“A doctor? Yes—of sorts.”

He lifted his head at that, “Of sorts?”

She moved up to his torso and touched the side he’d been favoring. Gloved hands grabbed her wrist as his head dropped back against the floor, and he groaned through clenched teeth. Answering his question, she said, “I’m a vet. Stay still. You’ve got some broken ribs. Are you having trouble breathing?”

“No.”

“Okay, good. That’s good. I’m going to feel your abdomen a little,” Pari told him, slipping her hand beneath his armor. “Tell me if anything hurts.”

The Mandalorian exhaled a soft grunt as she started pressing on the soft tissues of his stomach. “Wh—what,” he swallowed. “What is a vet?”

She shot him a look like she couldn’t believe what he just asked—because she couldn’t. Frowning, she explained, “A vet… as in a veterinarian.”

“A what?”

Pari stopped her examination and looked at him. “Did you hit your head?” It was a legitimate question. Who didn’t know what a veterinarian was?

“No—maybe. I’m not confused if that’s what you’re thinking.”

“Seeing double?”

“A little,” he answered right before he cried out in pain.

“Okay, that’s your liver. That’s not good. We’ve got to get you to the barn so I can help you.” She was about to ask if he could walk, but with his injuries quickly decided against it.

Pari looked at him, saying, “I don’t want you moving around too much with that shrapnel in your leg. I’m going to run and get the truck. Just stay still.” She got to her feet and grabbed her shotgun. Flipping on the safety, she pointed a finger at him. “Don’t try to get up; wait for me. I’ll be right back.”

Pari didn’t wait for a response, as she turned and jogged through the ship and down the cargo ramp. Running through the wide field, back up to the house, her breaths were heavy by the time she made it back into the house.

Grabbing the dog, whining at the front door, she ushered him into his kennel. His hackles stood up as his nose caught the strange smell of someone new on her, and she told him, “Exactly. That’s why you have to go to your room for a while, bud. We’ve got company, and I can’t have you bolting out the door to check him out.”

He plopped down with a pout but didn’t complain any further. Closing the kennel, she told him, “Be good, boy.”

Then she grabbed her keys out of the bowl on the foyer table and hurried to her pickup truck.


	2. Pain and Endurance

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a/n 1: Regarding my first chapter, it seems my Star Wars research has one HUGE glaring error. *clears throat* Veterinarians are common in the Mandalorian’s dimension. Everyone knows who they are and what they do. So, after recovering from the shock and embarrassment evoked by this embarrassing slip up, and considering this IS an AU fic, I decided I would play Maker and pretend that little factoid didn’t exist. So, if you like where this story is going, let’s just give each other a big exaggerated wink and move along. Pretend it never happened.  
> Sorry, guys.
> 
> a/n 2: This chapter has pretty graphic descriptions of blood and medical procedures.

“Almost there,” Pari grunted, encouraging them both as she helped him round the pickup’s front end. Staggering toward the barn, they were crossing through the beams of the headlights, when she felt the Mandalorian try to take on more of his weight. His injured leg balked at that idea, and they stumbled to a stop as a strained sound grated through voice the modulator in his helmet.

“Hey,” Pari scolded him, “Don’t do that.”

Arm slung over her shoulder, the Mandalorian braced his other hand on his knee and breathed. The white light of the headlights washed out the details of their bodies as she stopped, giving him a minute to regroup.

Dipping her head, she looked at the visor on his helmet, saying, “I work with animals, big ones. I throw around bales of straw every day.” The visor tilted to face her, and she finished with, “ I’m a lot stronger than I look. Stop being stubborn and _lean_ on me. Okay?”

He looked at her and then gave her a slight nod. Pari reciprocated the gesture, and when they started moving again, the heaviness of him settled firmly over her.

“Okay,” Pari exhaled as they came upon doors to her barn. Adjusting the grip she had on his belt, she pulled him against her a little more and let go of the arm draped around her neck. “Hang on a sec,” she grunted, shoving one of the big rolling doors to the side. The heavy door moaned as it slid along the track, and Pari grabbed his wrist again to walk them into the barn and back to her exam room.

She got the Mandalorian’s hip propped on the edge of the steel exam table, and he gripped her arms as she laid him back. Moving to a cabinet, she grabbed a towel and eased it under his neck, asking, “Do you know when you had your last tetanus booster?”

His head turned to face her, the visor fixing on her eyes. There was a brief pause, and then the helmet rocked slowly against the table. The way he hesitated gave her a feeling that the question had confused him.

“That’s okay,” she told him, grabbing the med scanner from the wall charger. She looked at his armor, saying, “Gonna need to lose the cuirass armor, okay? It’ll interfere with the scanner.”

The Mandalorian started on the catches, and she helped him ease out of the armor. His breath hitched from the movement, and she placed a hand on his bicep, squeezing it tightly. giving him a little distraction from the pain.

“This’ll take just a sec, and then I’ll give you something for the pain. It won’t be anything impressive, just glorified Tylenol I’m afraid, but it’s the best I’ve got unless I pull out the horse tranquilizers.” Pari spoke as she leaned over to the small readout of the scanner. Squeezing his arm again, she moved the device over his body.

“Complete break to rib numbers seven, eight, and nine, a partial break on ten. Five, six, and eleven are cracked. The breaks are clean; no floaters and no internal stabilization necessary.” She looked at him, “You got _damn_ lucky on that.”

Looking down again, she aimed it over his internal organs. “Contusions to your liver—” she squeezed his arm again “—and to the outside wall to your right kidney; probably be pissing bloody urine for a few days.” Pari ran her thumb over his bicep. A fraction of the tension in the muscle ease under her touch. Squeezing one last time, she stepped back and set the scanner down. Looking at him, she said, “I should call in a medical frigate to pick you up.”

He shook his head. “That’s not necessary. I just need to rest.”

“You have some serious trauma to your right side. They have resources that I don’t. You could be looking at a better recovery time.”

“No.”

Taking a breath, Pari pinched the bridge of her nose. Then, she looked at him again, saying, “Fine, but unless you’ve got someone to pick you up, it looks like you’re probably stuck here for a bit.”

He sighed and wrapped an arm over his side, but he didn’t argue.

Pulling on a pair of gloves, she told him, “All right, Mando. She held up a couple of syringes, “This is for the pain, and this one is the tetanus booster. If you’ve already had one in the last decade, it’s not going to hurt getting it again now.”

Pari looked at him. Every inch of him was covered, and she asked, “Where do you want’em, arm or hip?”

"Wait. Do you have any bacta?"

Her brows furrowed. "Any what?"

"Bacta...?" He repeated it slowly like she was suddenly hard of hearing.

She shook her head, "I don't know what that is."

If his visor could scowl, she'd swear that it just had. "What kind of Healer doesn't know what bacta is?"

"I'm not a people doctor. I'm an animal doctor. I don't know if that makes a difference in regards to _bacta_ , but I can assure you, nowhere in any of my medical texts or any of the journals I keep up with, has there ever been mention of a type of medicine called bacta."

He stared at her for a beat, and she waved the syringes at him, asking, "Arm or hip?"

"You sure you know what you're doing?"

"Mando, I'm the best there is for a hundred miles, and unless you've changed your mind on hailing a medical frigate to pick you up, I'm not only the best, but I'm also your only option."

He exhaled in a huff and started pulling on the snaps to his flak vest. While he worked on that, Pari gathered the instruments she would need to remove the shrapnel. His shirt was open by the time she’d finished, and he was working on pushing the material off his shoulder. Crossing his arm over his abdomen must have shifted his ribs because he froze, sucking in a sharp hiss.

Moving his hand away, Pari stepped in. “I’ve got it,”

After giving him both injections, she moved down to look at the hunk of metal projectile sticking out of his leg. “Scan showed this thing is big. Probably going to need some internal stitching after I pull it.” Pausing, she put a hand on her hip and looked down at him. “Will you let me remove your helmet?”

“No.”

“All right…” she sighed, “I’d like to put you under before I start digging around in your leg, but if I do that, you’ll need some oxygen, and I can’t do that with the helmet on. I can use a local, but it’s still going to hurt like a bitch. Are you sure?”

“The helmet stays on. It’s sacred to my creed. I can’t remove it in front of another.”

“I understand,” Pari nodded. “You follow the old ways, then?”

His head raised off the table the slightest, and she got the impression that it was his turn to look at her like she was the crazy one. With a voice that was both weak and firm, he said, “There is only one Way.”

That… didn’t make sense. Pari frowned. Shaking her head, she moved on and grabbed a vial of Lidocaine and a fresh syringe. Cutting away some of the material of his pant leg gave her better access to the wound, and she started injecting the local anesthetic.

After giving it a minute to kick in, she told him, “Okay, hold on, Mando,” and pushed down on the flesh surrounding the metallic hunk. Blood pooled around her fingers, but she’d expected that and kept working.

Keeping the flesh of his thigh compressed, Pari tried to ignore the Mandalorian’s pained response as she grabbed a pair of forceps from the instrument tray. She clamped the tips down over the exposed lip of the foreign object. “Okay. Try to stay very still. I’m going to start pulling this out now.”

It didn’t slip out easily like she’d hoped it would. It was in deep, and the muscle around it tensed, resisting the movement as she pulled. “Try to relax your leg for me, Mando,” she urged and could tell that he tried. Still, she had to start easing it back and forth to get it to budge.

A clipped grunt came from behind the helmet as the Mandalorian’s gloved hands gripped the edges of the table. “Hang in there. We’re making progress,” coached Pari. Using the fingers of her other hand, she spread the flesh back from around the metal and kept up the careful rocking movements. Gauging by the shape of the object on the scanner readout, she figured they were about halfway there.

Blood was running with lazy rivulets down the side of his leg, but she’d expected that. The object was embedded deep enough that veins would have been compromised. With deep pressure, they would clot and heal. More of the shrapnel eased from the wound. The lazy rivulets swelled, bubbling over her hand in a thick warmth before a spray of blood jetted from the wound. Pari cursed as blood splattered against her stomach.

“Shit—!” She snatched a stack of gauze off the tray.

“What?” The Mandalorian’s raised his head to look as she pushed the cotton against the wound. His leg jerked back, and there was a clunk as his helmet fell back against the steel table with a throaty groan.

Holding pressure on the wound, she told him, “Hey. Look at me.”

Clipped breathing came from behind the helmet as it turned to face her. Looking at him dead on, Pari was calm as she told him, “We’ve got a little problem. It looks like this hunk of metal has compromised the artery. It’s not too serious, but it’s bad enough that I’m going to have to do some deep cutting so I can access it and suture the puncture. You do _not_ want to be awake for that.”

“The helmet… stays on.”

She tried one more time. “Look. I understand your devotion to the creed. I know about the old ways some still choose to follow. I also know about the modern movement that came to be close to fifty years ago. It revamped the old ways, right? Mandalorians walk around all the time without their helmets. You’ve seen them. You won’t disgrace your beliefs if you remove yours now—especially if it’s for a life-saving reason, like this.”

He shook his head, “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Don’t I? My husband’s brother is a Mandalorian—has been since he was fifteen. My aunt and uncle were even younger than that. My father was a Mandalorian before he died in combat when I was nineteen. So, don’t tell me I don’t know what I’m talking about.” She stopped and then sighed, “I’m not sure where you’re from, guy, but around here, this close to the Base? There are many more Mandalorians walking around than not, and very few of them hold fast to the old ways.”

He just looked at her for a moment, “Many?”

She nodded and tried to figure out why he sounded so surprised about that. It’s not like they were a secret society or something. “So, how about it? There is no reason to suffer. Let me put you under.”

He looked at her, and a part of her thought he was going to take her up on the offer, but then his answer was breathy and very final. “It stays…on.”

“Unbelievable,” Pari muttered. Out of time for negotiations, she said, “Fine. But I need you to keep still. I’m strapping your legs down. No arguments, not while I’m messing with your artery. Come here,” she eased him up and put his hand on the wound, “Hold firm pressure on that.”

Reaching under the table, she pulled out a couple of black nylon straps. Laying one across his hips, the other one went over his shins. She walked around the table and made quick work of slipping the ends into the clamps and cinched them both down.

“Okay, Mando,” she eased him back against the table again, “last chance to change your mind.” The silent look she got relayed his answer on that, and she turned back to the wound. “I’m going to double up on the local. I’ll also give you a few shots internally when I can. Be prepared, though. It’s still going to be an awful experience.”

He gave her a nod, and she moved his hand back to the edge of the table. “Hold on.”

Pari gave him the extra dosing of Lidocaine. In the seconds it took to kick in, she visualized the inner structure of the man’s leg. She measured in her mind how large the object was, how deep the artery was, the shape of the object, and where it most likely punctured the blood vessel. She calculated the length and angle of the incision she’d need to cut. Then, she tugged on a fresh pair of latex gloves and pulled a surgical mask over her face.

Reaching up, she flicked the switch to the large examination light mounted above the table and aimed it where she needed to. Picking up the scalpel, she said, “Here we go,” and removed the gauze.

Blood flowed, but the shrapnel acted as a makeshift cork, keeping it from gushing. She made the first cut with minimal fuss. It was when she made the next one that sliced into the meat of his leg, that his body tensed. His gloved hands clamped down over the side of the table as she reached for the single-handed retractor. Pari slipped it into the wound. Squeezing the handle together spread muscle and tissues apart, and an excruciating sound of pain carried throughout the barn.

“Slow breaths, Mando,” she instructed as she cut deeper into his leg. A choked cry escaped, and if it weren’t for being strapped down, he would have jerked his leg. Even being restrained, her work zone wasn’t completely still. It didn’t make her job any easier, but she was used to having to move with the patient as she worked. Animals didn’t listen when you told them to stay still.

His leg started to tremble as she swapped out the scalpel for a pair of forceps. Clamping down on the hunk of metal again, she started easing it out. Blood sprayed over her hand and stomach again. She pulled it out. Warm, thick blood squirted her in the face. Moving her head out of the way, she dove into the wound with a pair of clamps.

The Mandalorian’s body tried to buck, and an agonizing cry, gritty and slightly primal, tore from his throat.

Engaging the clamp, she closed off the artery. “Pass out if you can, Mando,” she encouraged, pulling over a magnifying lamp and the open suture kit. He didn’t respond, and she figured it didn’t matter. If he kept panting like he was, hyperventilation would put him out soon enough.

Leaning close over the magnifying glass of the lamp, she used small, precise motions as she worked to suture the torn artery. It wasn’t a large puncture and she had it closed after making four tight knots. Clipping off the last one, she studied the artery carefully as she eased the clamp back a little at a time.

Pari watched the damaged artery for any leakage. Satisfied that the sutures would hold, she removed the retractor. A weak moan came from the head of the table as she pulled the instrument from his flesh. The wound wept from damaged veins and capillaries but slow enough now that she could put pressure on it and wait for it to clot.

Grabbing a fresh stack of gauze, she pushed down with both hands. Another moan came from the Mandalorian, but there was no energy behind it. She looked over and saw his head tilting to the side. “Go ahead, Mando,” her tone was soft as she looked at him. “The worst of it is over. You’re safe here. Go ahead and let go.”

She watched him take four, maybe five shallow breaths, and then the tension in his body slipped away. His head lolled to the side as the hand gripping the table brushed her leg as it fell.

Pari stood there looking at him for a minute wondering where he came from, which tribe did he belong to, and who in Maker’s name had told him he couldn’t take off his helmet. It was an archaic commandment that went out of practice decades ago.

Wiping at the line of blood on her forehead, Pari drew in a deep breath as she peeked at the wound. The bleeding was minimal, nothing much more than some weeping capillaries. She reached for a fresh needle and began the internal sutures. After she finished closing the outside of the wound, Pari applied an antibiotic gel to the incision site and then taped down a layer of gauze pads.

She released the straps, freeing the Mandalorian from the table.

Looking at him as she pulled off her mask and gloves, she counted his deep, relaxed breaths. He was still out. That was good; he needed the rest after the trauma he’d experienced. She didn’t know how he didn’t lose consciousness sooner. It wasn’t usually something that could be controlled. The mind can only endure so much pain before it shuts down, and this guy was able to push aside that biological safety protocol much longer than she had expected.

Packing away the enigma of her strange night, Pari was gentle as she pulled back on the injured leg, bending the knee, and drawing it up. Dragging it to the side, she let it rest against her shoulder as she wound a thick layer of gauze around the Mandalorian’s thigh. When finished, she taped it off and eased the leg back down to the table again. She took his pulse and then grabbed her stethoscope to listen to his heart and lungs. He seemed to be doing okay—all things considered.

Draping the stethoscope around her neck, she stretched, working the tension out of her shoulders as she walked over to a cabinet. She grabbed a blanket and draped it over the sleeping Mandalorian on her exam table.

Lowering herself into one of the chairs by the door, Pari sat and waited for him to wake up.

TBC

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for the beautiful reviews and all the kudos! I was so nervous about sharing this fic and you guys are just so kind. <3


	3. Answers and More Questions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, guys! I wanted to say thank you so much for all your lovely comments, encouragements and suggestions. I'm dead on my feet tonight, but I wanted to get this chapter posted for you all. I've gone over it many times, but it's to the point where I can't look at it anymore. If you notice any mistakes please let me know. I hope you enjoy this chapter. Be well!

Sitting in the truck, Pari realized that they were once again flirting with the possibility of engaging in another standoff.

The Mandalorian sitting in her passenger seat held himself slightly off-center to keep pressure off his injured side. Cuirass laying in the space between them, the soft green light of the pickup’s dash gleamed off the armor he wore as he looked away from the house. Facing her, he reiterated, “This isn’t necessary.”

Relaxed back into her seat, Pari's head rolled against the headrest as she pinned him with an exasperated look.

They’d been over this.

“I’m not dumping you back off at your ship. Do you even have a proper bed in that thing?”

“I have a cot.”

Rolling her eyes, she turned toward the windshield again.

“It serves its purpose well.”

“Yep,” she rubbed an eyebrow. It was a habit she’d developed and given into often when dealing with stubborn people. “I’m sure your cot will feel great on all those busted ribs. Look—” draping a hand over the steering wheel, she turned in her seat and faced him directly. “Come inside, even if it’s just for tonight. The house is warm. The couch is big and ridiculously comfortable and I’ve got plenty of extra blankets."

"I appreciate the offer, but—"

"Mando, you’ve had a hell of an evening. I don’t feel right about leaving you back at your ship alone. Not with the internal damage you’re walking around with. I mean, come on, guy...” Pari gestured at his middle. “Your damn kidney and liver have significant contusions. It wouldn’t take much to aggravate them into getting worse. If that were to happen, you would not want to be closed up in your ship, three hundred meters away.” He hesitated, and she added the clincher, “If for nothing else, do it for my peace of mind?”

He started drawing in a deep breath, no doubt fuel for a dramatic sigh of resignation but cut off with a soft gasp before he ever got there. The Mandalorian grabbed his side, and Pari quirked an eyebrow at him. Settling for a controlled exhale, he caved, “Fine.”

~~

Riley was barking before she even got the front door open. They were taking their time crossing the large deck on the front of her house when the Mandalorian halted. “There are _canines_ in your house.”

Sounding like a warning, it was an odd reaction to have to a barking dog. Sure, some people didn’t like dogs, but to call them canines? Her head inclined toward the door, urging him forward. “One dog,” she corrected as they continued.

Riley didn’t let up, and she told him, “Riley! Hush!”

The animal protested from inside the house with a final yipped bark and then became silent.

They reached the door, and the Mandalorian’s visor swung toward her. “You have it _trained?”_

Pari looked into the blackout glass of his visor for a beat. “Yes.”

She pushed the door open, and he hesitated. She could feel him tense beside her as he looked into the house and she realized he was waiting for the dog to charge them. Looking at him again, she said, “You don’t like dogs.”

“I don’t care about them either way. Canines are what they are: feral and belong to the wild. When people try to domesticate them, things... don’t usually end well.”

So, he wasn’t afraid of dogs. He just viewed them like she would a mountain lion. She had to get to the bottom of things and figure out where this guy was from.

“Well, Riley’s in his kennel. He won’t be coming out until I let him. Come on,” she led him inside, saying, “Let’s get you off your feet.”

He took the step into the house, and his hand shot out, bracing himself against the doorway.

“Easy, just a few more steps,” Pari encouraged as she helped the Mandalorian into her home. “Let’s go over to the couch. It’s close.”

He went to sit, and she set his cuirass armor on the rocking chair. “I suggest you lay the other direction, with your injured side protected by the back cushions. I promise you’ll thank me later.” Walking to him, Pari helped him ease his body down onto the furniture. He got situated, and she unfolded a blanket. Covering him with it, she asked, “How’s the pain?”

“Tenacious.”

“Alright, hold on a sec.”

Pari left for the kitchen. When she returned, she had a couple of frozen gel packs and a towel in her hand. “Unless I pull out the horse tranquilizers, I don’t have anything stronger than what I already gave you, but a cold compress can help a lot.” She explained, placing one against the gauze covering the incision on his leg and secured it with a loose elastic bandage. Then, she told him, “Pull up your shirt for me.”

At first, he hesitated, but then his gloved fingers started gathering up the material. Even without the med scanner, his broken ribs would have been obvious just by the angry blush of red and purple bruising along the length of his side.

Wrapping the remaining gel packs in the towel, Pari placed them along his side. She was gentle as she situated them where his ribs were broken, but he still flinched, sucking in a sharp inhale.

“Yeah, that’s going to be your new status quo for the next week to ten days before the pain backs off and doesn’t feel so raw.” She pulled his shirt down and tugged the blanket a little higher. Looking at him, she asked, “Ever deal with broken ribs before?”

“Yes.”

“Then you know what I’m talking about.”

“Unfortunately.” 

Riley complained with a whiney grumble from his kennel, and Pari jerked her head in the direction of the sound. “I’ve got to let him out.”

The Mandalorian looked at her, and she grinned. “Don’t worry; he’ll behave,” she promised and then left the room.

Opening the door, Riley approached her and stuck his nose to a spot on her jeans stained by the Mandalorian’s blood. She let him get the scent and then said, “C’mon, dog.”

He walked beside her, but she could tell he was restraining himself from taking off to follow the new scent in the living room. He caught sight of the Mandalorian on her couch, and she told him, “Stay.”

He sat in the entryway to the living room and looked up at her. Pointing to him, she repeated, “You stay.”

He wiggled his rear on the floor and made a couple of dancing moves with his front paws, but he listened and didn’t move. Pari pointed at him again, for good measure, and then walked into the living room.

When she took a knee by the couch, the dog was still where she’d left him, and the man behind her said, “I’ve never seen a canine like that. His structure resembles an Anooba.”

She’s heard of the Anooba legends. They were wolf-like, vicious creatures. If all the dogs where he is from are like that, his earlier reaction suddenly made a lot more sense.

Pari looked at her 75-pound lap dog. He was tall, and his coat was white with black patches that made him look like a milk cow. Big floppy black ears perked on top of his head told her he was interested, but not guarded. He was following her lead.

She wasn’t concerned, so he wasn’t either.

Keeping strict eye contact with the dog, Pari ordered, “Come.”

The dog charged into the room. Behind her, the Mandalorian shifted against the cushions the slightest bit. She knew it was a gut reaction. He was preparing to defend.

Riley came to her, and she held up her palm. He stopped, and she had him smell her hands and clothes again. His tail was wagging a mile a minute as he sniffed at her. She let the dog smell her for a few more seconds, and then she looked over her shoulder, “Hold your hand out.”

The Mandalorian did as she asked, albeit cautiously. Moving his gloved hand toward the dog, he watched it as the animal shifted from smelling her to sniffing his open palm. Riley was serious about this part, and his tail stopped wagging. The bushy appendage curled high over his back, and he got to work figuring out the new person.

Sniffing the Mandalorian’s hand for a few seconds, he moved on and roamed up his arm. He smelled the polished armor on his shoulder, and then his nose glued against the man’s uninjured side, sniffing as he got to know him. Moving on again, he smelled up his side and then started rooting his snout under his shoulder, huffing as he drew in deep snorts. 

Pari pulled him away, “Okay, dog. That’s enough.”

Riley sat down next to her and gave her his happy panty face. “Yeah, you’re a good boy.” He lapped her cheek once and then went to find his bone.

“I’ve never seen a canine so docile—and trained.”

Pari twisted the wedding ring on her finger. “My husband gets all the credit for that one. Well,” she scratched the back of her neck, “most of the credit.” Turning away from the dog, she told him, “Riley’s a good boy. He’s just a big furry goofball. You don’t need to worry about him. He won’t jump up on you, and now that he’s met you and sees that I’m good with you being here, he’ll be good with it also.”

A grating sound came from the dark fireplace, and the Mandalorian looked over. Watching the dog gnaw on his bone, he asked, “What planet is this?”

“You’re on Jakku.”

His visor swung back. “No, I’m not.”

The Mandalorian’s rebuke had been solid, and her brows pulled together in response to it, “Hate to break it to you, pal. But, yes, you are.”

“That’s not possible.”

Pari pulled over the ottoman and sat down. Resting her arms on her knees, she asked, “Why not?”

“Your planet is lush and green. Jakku is a rocky, arid planet.”

“Are you new to this star system?” She grinned, “Jakku hasn’t been a desert planet for thousands of years. This _is_ Jakku.”

“That’s not possible,” he asserted stronger.

“You keep saying that.”

“Because I’ve been to Jakku many times—and this isn’t it.”

“Mando, listen. I’ve lived on this planet my entire life. You trusted me enough to let me dig around in your leg and patch a torn artery, but you don’t trust me to know the name of my own plant?”

He didn’t say anything, and Pari laughed. “Look, if you don’t believe me, get up, and I’ll drive you into town. You can ask as many random people you want, and I guaranteed they’ll say—"

“I don’t understand why you’re trying to—"

“I’m not _trying_ to do anything. I’m _telling_ you, this, right here, where you are right now—you’re _on_ Jakku.”

Hands tightening into fists, he levered himself onto his elbow. “This isn’t Jakku!”

Riley looked up from his bone with a breathy warning rumble.

“It’s okay; hush,” Pari told the dog. Leaning forward, she took the Mandalorian by the shoulders, “Okay, Mando. Calm down.”

Locked into standoff number three for the night, he resisted her attempt to lay him back against the pillows, and she stressed, “I’m not screwing with you, and I'm not purposely pissing you off. Okay?”

Slowly, he allowed her to ease him back. The tension in his body held fast, and her shoulders sagged. Rubbing her forehead, she pointed out, “You and I have been having one bizarre miscommunication after another tonight. Let’s start from the beginning. Tell me what happened.”

Visor glaring, he didn’t respond. Pari got bold and laid a hand on his arm, “Hey. I’m frustrated, too. Alright? This is getting kind of ridiculous. I know it, but if you tell me about the events that led up to you landing your ship in my lower pasture, maybe together we can get it figured out.”

His visor remained fixed on her for a beat. Another moment passed, and then she heard him draw in a careful breath. Adjusting his head on the pillow with a sharp motion, he began, “I was leaving Hoth. I made the jump to hyperspace. Autopilot engaged; I was in the cargo hold when everything went to hell. There was a blinding flash. Everything whited out. I couldn’t see at all. My visor auto-adjusted to the light, and then it was like the ship suddenly made a left turn. Everything not bolted down got hurled against the wall, including me. That’s the last thing I remember before waking up on the floor beneath a metal crate. When I made it up to the cockpit, I found the ship in orbit around your planet. I didn't bother checking the Nav system; I was too out of it. I just looked for a place to land. Your property was the closest.”

“How heavy was the crate?”

“Roughly 80 pounds.”

Her face cringed with empathy. “Good guess that’s what busted up your side.”

“Mostly, I think.”

“Don’t you guys normally secure that crap down?”

“Not while I’m actively using it,” he contended, and she could practically _see_ his flat expression behind the visor.

“Guess so, yeah.” She smirked, then focused on a particular part of his recap. “You mentioned a blinding white light?”

Holding his side, he shifted against the cushions of the couch. “Yes.”

“This white light… how long did it last?”

“I’m not sure.”

“Think.”

“I don’t know...” Sighing, he gestured at nothing in particular, and then his hand dropped back to his lap as he thought. “Maybe ten seconds?”

“And then the ship went off course in a big way.”

“Yes.”

“Well, crap.”

“What.”

“I think I might know what is going on here.”

“Care to fill me in?”

“It’s only happened one other time I can remember, but I know there are other cases in the record books. Only a few times over decades…” she trailed off in thought, “because the events must line up just right, but...” she frowned at him, “You’re not going to believe me.”

“Try me.”

“I think you got sucked into an interdimensional wormhole. I think the bright light you saw was a star going supernova in your dimension; I know we had one happen for us tonight out in Zulu sector. If the two stars exploded at the same time, it could have created a vortex between your dimension and mine. That would be when your ship got sucked into that left turn.”

“You’re right. I don’t believe you.”

Rubbing her brow again, Pari smirked. “I figured. It’s a lot to swallow. Okay,” she tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear as she thought. “Look, there have been clues all night long.” She started counting off on her fingers, “You’ve never heard of a veterinarian; the huge variations in Mandalorian customs between our worlds; I’ve never heard of a medical professional called a Healer; vastly different environment descriptions of the same planet—” he blew out an annoyed breath and looked away. Grabbing his arm Pari leaned back into his view, “Is it really all that unbelievable?”

He looked at her but didn’t answer.

She offered a compromise, “Look, I’m not very good at explaining the specifics. I think I know someone who might be able to help. For now, though, how about you just try to rest? Try not to overthink this. At least not for tonight. If you wanted, I could make up the guest room. There is a spare bed in there, and you could remove your helmet and get some sleep. It’s just me here tonight, and I won’t come in without issuing a warning.”

“Thank you, but I think I’d rather not move again for a while.”

Pari shot him a sympathetic smile. “I understand. Do you think you could eat?” He didn’t answer right off, and she said, “I could bring you something, and then I’ve got some outside chores I need to do; got some cleaning up in the barn…” she trailed off with a playful smirk.

He gave her a slow nod, “I’d appreciate that. Thank you.”

She got up and was headed into the kitchen when he called after her, “You said it was just you here tonight?” Turning back, she nodded, and he asked, “Who else lives here?”

“Just my daughter. Sash; she’s eight. She’s spending the night with my mom tonight.”

He hesitated then asked, “Earlier, you mentioned your husband...”

“He, um… he’s passed. Almost three years now.”

His reply was simple but soft and genuine, “I’m sorry.”

“Yeah,” She nodded, giving him a weak smile. “Me too.”

~~

Out in the barn, Pari kicked Riley’s ball back out into the yard. Watching him bolt after it, she pulled out her comlink and contacted her mom.

Her mother’s line was working on the fourth ring when Pari’s end exploded with, “Mommy!”

“Kid, wow. Try to leave me a little bit of my eardrum.” Her daughter giggled and giggled, and Pari smiled, wondering how much junk food she’d had today to have her so wired. “Are you having fun?” she asked when the girl quieted down.

“Yes!”

The dog came back and dropped the ball at her feet. She kicked it again.

“That’s good. What have you two trouble-makers been up to?”

“Grandma took us out for burgers, and then we went to see Aunty Kim at work.”

“Oh yeah?” Pari squatted down and handed an apple through the slats to one of her indoor pens. A sloppy pink snout snorted around the apple and then drew it from her hand. “And how many sweets have you had so far?”

The dog brought the ball back.

“A little…” the snigger that followed made Pari grin. Standing up, she kicked the ball again and wiped her hand on the leg of her jeans. “Hey, what’s Grandma up to?”

“She’s right here.”

A rustling sound filled her ear as the comlink got passed off.

Pari entered the pen housing her neighbor’s lame stallion. “How are you doing tonight, boy? Hm?” Patting the horse on the side of the neck, she ran her hand along his back and around his rump to his other side. She was lifting his back leg to look at his hoof when Riley showed up and dropped the ball outside the pen.

Her mother’s voice came over the line. “Hellooo…” and Pari grinned at the singsong greeting. Maybe she should ask how many sweets _she’s_ had.

“Hi, Mom,” Closing the pen, she kicked the ball. “How’s it going over there?”

“Oh, just fine. Sash is helping me make supper. Did she tell you we saw Aunt Kim today at work?”

“Yep,” grunting, Pari hauled down a few bales of straw. “You’re making supper? I thought you had burgers?”

“No, that was lunch.”

“Ah,” she cut the binds and then began shaking out the straw into the pens that held her patients. With the cold weather moving in early, they’d need it to keep warm.

“Listen, Mom, I need you to bring Sash home tomorrow. Can you manage that?”

“Well, I guess so. That shouldn’t be a problem. Why?”

Riley dropped the ball at her feet. Panting, with his long tongue hanging off the side of his face, he was the personification of happiness.

She kicked the ball. “I had a traveler make an emergency landing here tonight. He was in some sort of accident. From the story he gave me, I think he might have gotten sucked through from a different galaxy.”

“Hm…” Pari could see her mother touching her chin as she thought. “We haven’t had one of those for quite some time.”

“I know.”

“I don’t mind bringing Sash, but what is different about this traveler that you can’t leave?”

Brushing her hands off, Pari grabbed a broom and started sweeping the stray pieces of straw scattered across the floor.

Riley showed back up with his ball.

“He’s got a few serious injuries. He’s okay for now, but there could be some complications that might spring up, and I don’t feel right leaving him alone for too long. Not until I know he’s over the worst of it.”

Sitting beside the ball, Riley stared, giving it his best vulture impersonation.

“You’re staying in his ship with him? Oh, I don’t like that at all.”

Riley griped at the forgotten ball.

“I’m not staying in his ship, Mom.”

There was silence, and then her mother gasped, “Pari--!”

“Mom, he needs help.”

Riley complained louder.

“You let him in your house?” She was appalled.

“Mom.” Pari’s tone was cautionary.

“Okay, okay…” She could visualize her mother’s hands raising in a gesture of surrender at coming too close to overstepping boundaries.

Pawing at the ball, Riley barked at her.

Sighing, she turned and kicked the ball. Riley tore off after it.

“I can handle myself, Mom. Dad made sure of that.”

“Yes. I know, I know. I just worry about you girls out there in the middle of nowhere all alone—and now with a stranger under your roof...”

A fond smile crept on Pari’s face. “I know you do, Mom.”

The conversation dipped into a lull.

Riley’s ball dropped at her feet.

“Is he cute?”

Pari huffed at that and kicked the ball, “I don’t know.” She flipped on the lights to her exam room, “He’s a Mandalorian. He follows the old ways.”

Her mother hummed in response to that. “I can’t say that I like the idea of you allowing this man into your house when it’s just you and Sash there.”

“And Riley,” Pari added, looking at the dog who had returned and was now busy sniffing an area of the floor she’d previously mopped up. It was where the Mandalorian’s blood had been spilled.

“Well, yes, that’s a good point.”

Pari looked around the room, making sure everything was cleaned up. Her mother asked, “Did Riley try to eat him?”

The dog was still sniffing the duracrete.

“Riley.” Pari whistled, and a black and white head popped up. Ears perked, he looked at her from over the table. She kicked his ball out into the barn, and he ran after it. “Nope,” Pari went back to her mother’s question and flipped off the lights, saying, “Riley’s only tried to eat one person. That delivery guy that never came back.”

“Pari, still…”

“Mom…,” Pari reminded herself to be patient. With her father and Junn gone, she and Sash were all she had left. There was Aunt Kim, her mother’s sister, but they could only tolerate each other in small doses.

Leaning against the open barn door, Pari watched the dog run around the yard with a dead branch. Half an inch thick, the thing was easily five feet long.

“Mom,” she started again. “The poor guy’s busted half his ribs on one side, he’s going to be down a leg for at least a week, and I’m sure if he let me take that helmet off and check his eyes, I’d find that he’s rocking a nice concussion.” Her mom was quiet, and she added, “Besides, Mom. He’s a Mandalorian. He has honor. I don’t feel like I need to worry about this one.”

“Yes, I’m sure you’re right.” She paused, adding, “Your father would be proud of you.” Then, her voice softened, “Junn, too.”

A heaviness settled in her heart at the mention of her late husband. Looking down, she scuffed the heel of her boot against the barn floor. “You think so?”

“Pari,” her mother’s tone was just shy of admonishing. “You, more than anyone, know how much Junn wished he could have joined the ranks alongside his brother.”

Riley laid down in the cool evening grass to gnaw on his stick. Watching him, she raised her chin, “I know.”

“You know how deeply he felt about our duty to each other. To serve and help those whom the stars directed to our path.”

“Yeah, Mom.” Her exhale was deep, “I know.”

“Well, then, you tell me. We both know how I worry, but Pari, would Junn turn this injured Mandalorian away, or would he serve?”

Pari snickered. “He’d probably already be updating the man’s thruster unit.”

Her mom chuckled at that, “And rewiring the instrument cluster.”

“Remodeling the refresher.”

“Right, complete with heated durasteel floors.”

They shared a burst of laughter over the line. 

Pari wiped a tear from her eye, born partly from laughing and partly from longing. They quieted down, and then she heard her mom call out to Sash. “Oh! No, no, darling. Don’t pull him by his feet.” Returning to the line, she said, “Pari, I’ve got to run. The cat’s stuck under the sofa again.”

“Okay.”

“Hey.” Her mom came back over the line, “Why don’t you contact Professor Clayton.”

“Gads, it’s been ages since I’ve seen him.” Pari’s heart squeezed from guilt. The professor was an old family friend. He was like a favorite uncle, and she felt terrible over getting wrapped up in her own life for too long.

“Give him a call,” her mother urged. “He’d love to help, and he might be the only chance this traveler has to get back to his own galaxy. If he’s lucky, maybe the professor can map out a return trip before the stars burn out completely.”

Her mother’s cat yowled in the background. “Gotta rescue Jaspurr. Hugs and kisses, love. Stay safe,” she was told, and then the call ended. 

TBC


	4. Rest for the Weary

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for all of your support and kindness. I hope you enjoy this chapter. It's a big one.

Pari and Riley didn’t worry about being quiet as they reentered the rear of the house.

She had decided to go to the back door for two reasons. One, she needed to wipe off the dog. He’d gone for a late evening swim in the small pond, and that crap had to get dried off before he thought about laying on her rugs. Second, the back door led straight into a mudroom and that into the kitchen. With all the noise they were making, it would give the Mandalorian plenty of time to throw on his helmet if he needed to.

Pulling off her coat, she noticed Riley already trotting out of the kitchen. “You stay down,” she warned, following after him. Rounding the corner, she entered the living room. What she noticed first was the Mandalorian on her couch. The observation that immediately followed was, that is  _ not _ the position she had left him in. Situated lower on the couch, the man lay slightly diagonal. With the flat of his back on the cushions, his lower half was barely on at all.

“Hey,” Pari said, taking quick strides into the room. She kneeled on the floor beside him, “Hey, what happened?” He was in a world of hurt and, when he didn’t answer right off, her hands hovered over him as she assessed the situation.

Good leg hanging entirely off the furniture, his injured one lay haphazardly against the cushions. The whole length of him was coiled with tension, and with his head turned toward the back of the couch, his breaths came and left in a desperate rhythm. 

“Mando,” she called, placing her hand on the gloved one holding his side. “Talk to me. Tell me what’s going on.” The Mandalorian’s helmet moved to face her. It seemed like he had to swallow a couple of times before he could mentally switch gears enough to speak. When he did, his voice was strained and breathy.

“Got up,” a shaky hand pointed in the direction of the kitchen. His arm dropped back down. “Came back. Moved wrong—” He cut off. Arching back against the cushions, his voice grated through the voice modulator, “Think I fell, more than laid back down.”

_ Okay, okay, _ thought Pari, this might not be as bad as it seemed. If he fell back against the couch from his height, even if the jolt of the landing hadn’t compromised his injuries, it could have aggravated them enough to justify the level of pain she was seeing.

“Okay—hey,” she grabbed the hand not holding his side and closed her fingers around his clenched fist. Squeezing it, she leaned in over his visor, “I’m going to run out to the barn and get the scanner to make sure nothing is worse.” She looked him over, thought about helping him into a less scattered position, but she didn’t want to move him until she did the scan—just to be safe. “Do you feel like you’re going to pass out or anything?”

His answer started as a hum of pain before he formed the correct letters.  _ “...no.” _

“Okay. I’ll be quick. Do not move until I get back. At all.”

Running out of the house, Pari flew down the steps of the deck and made a beeline for the barn. She cursed herself for not bringing the scanner with her in the first place as she rushed through the dark building.

Throwing open the door to her exam room, she headed straight into the darkness, going for the glowing green light of the charger, and snagged the unit from the wall.

On the way out, she swung by the small fridge and yanked open the door. Bathed in its white light, Pari grabbed a vial of the pain medicine she’d given him hours ago. It didn’t seem to help much, but it would be better to have it on hand if he wanted it. She went to close the door, then stopped and reached back in, grabbing the mildest tranquilizer she had. If nothing else, she could knock him out until she could scare up some proper medication to handle the grade of pain he was dealing with.

Slamming the fridge, she didn’t bother with the door to the exam room before running back to the house. That time, she found him exactly as she’d left him.

Riley was at the door when she opened it, and she told him to move, nudging him in his broad chest with her knee as she pushed past and into the house. The drugs clinked together as she set them on the end table. Standing over the Mandalorian, she loaded up the scanner and went to move the arm guarding his middle, but he resisted.

Touching his shoulder, she offered, “I can give you another dose of pain medicine.”

He didn’t take the time to think about it before shaking his head and forcing out, "No good."

Pari understood what he meant, and she agreed. Animals didn’t get the hard stuff. Either they were knocked out, or they got a low-grade pain reliever. They needed to feel the pain to know they had limitations. Mask it, and they carried on like they were perfectly fine. The stuff she’d given the Mandalorian was hardly strong enough to be effective against the injuries he was dealing with.

“Okay,” she pulled on his arm again, suggesting, “then let’s figure out what’s going on so I can help you.” He let her move his hand away from his side, and she aimed the device at where he was most injured.

The broken ribs didn’t look any worse than before, but rib number ten showed slightly elevated protein molecules around the bone. It still wasn’t a complete break, but it was easily a little worse for wear. The liver stats held consistent with earlier readings: swelling and a collection of blood where the contusion was most obvious. Moving to look at his kidney, she tried a few different positions but was having a hard time getting a decent read on it. With his injured side against the back of the couch, she needed a better angle.

Repositioning herself, Pari placed her knee on the couch by his side and looked down at him, “I need a little better access to scan your kidney.” His visor turned slowly to face her, and she placed a hand on his hip. “If you can tilt toward me just the slightest bit, I can get the angle I need.”

He didn’t say anything, just pressed a hand to the back of the couch, and pushed off as she edged him toward her. They moved him a few inches, and she said, “Okay, stop.” Digging her elbow into the cushions at his side, she forced them back and wedged the scanner into the gap. He panted hard a few times as he held the position, but she got the reading she needed and then eased him back.

His arm fell back to his side with a muffled protest, and she sat back on the ottoman. Leaning in, she asked, “Are you sure you don’t want to try that pain medication? It’s low-grade, but it’s got to help some. Even a little bit would be better than what you’ve got going on now.”

He refused again, and she sucked in a quick breath, saying, “Alright. Earlier, when you got up, did you use the refresher? Was there blood?”

Looking at her, his helmet raised an inch off the cushions like he couldn’t believe what she was asking.

“It’s just fluids, Mando,” the corner of her mouth ticked up, and she added, “You’re not the only one who pees.”

His head dropped back down against the cushion, and he grabbed his side. “Yes.”

He just answered two questions. Pari tilted her head and took a guess, “Yes, there was blood?”

“Yes.”

“How much: bright red or just a tint?”

He shifted, and his breath hitched, “A tint; pinkish.”

“Okay, that’s expected. The scan looked pretty good, comparably, but your kidney is less than happy. It can be a fickle organ, and I want to keep an eye on it.” Pari touched his arm, waiting until she knew she had his attention, “If it becomes darker, redder, that’s something I need to know about.”

He agreed, and she pushed to her feet. “How about we straighten you out into a more comfortable position.” He didn’t respond and leaning over him, Pari coached, “Here’s how we’re going to do this.” She draped the arm on his bad side over her shoulders. “When I say so, you hold on to me. I’ll lift, and you help me by using the strength on your good side to push yourself back.”

Hovering over him closely, she slipped an arm behind him. The position drew her in as she reached for the material behind his far shoulder. She was close enough that she could feel his warmth. With her face beside his neck, she picked up a mixed scent of gun oil, leather, and spice. Bracing her other arm on the back of the couch, she told him, “Take a breath.”

His chest expanded against hers, and she instructed, “Okay, Mando. Go.” 

Gathering him to herself, Pari lifted, helping him to push himself back. A groan pulled from the helmet by her ear, and the arm around her shoulders tightened down. It only took one try to get him repositioned, but he still breathed out a rough yelp of pain as they scooted him back against the pillows.

Pari grabbed his hand again as she palmed the side of his helmet, “Take a couple of slow breaths, Mando. The worst of it will fade. ”

“I’m okay,” he panted, sounding anything but.

Leaning down, she started to bring his feet up onto the couch, but he stopped her, saying his boots were dirty. She turned to face him, about to remark on how it hadn’t been an issue earlier, but instead just offered, “I can help you take them off.”

He declined, and she understood why. It was his first night in an unfamiliar place on a day that got flipped upside down on him. He was injured. It compromised his skills. So much was out of his control right now. Keeping his boots on gave him some sense of security when everything else today had gone straight to shit.

“Okay,” she agreed and left the room. When she came back, she had a towel in her hands. He watched her as she laid it over the cushions, telling him, “You’re not going to get any rest with your legs draped off the couch. Besides,” she pointed at the bandage on his thigh, “we need to keep that one elevated. Otherwise, swelling will become an issue.”

He let her help him raise his injured leg and propped a pillow under his thigh. He dragged his other leg up onto the cushions beside it. Looking him over, the way he held himself, squirming and unable to get comfortable, she could  _ feel _ his aching.

Pari looked at the table by the couch, at the vial containing the medicine she’d given him earlier, but she knew he’d just reject it again if she tried to push it on him. It had barely helped the first time, she knew this, but letting him lay there hurting without some type of relief wasn’t an option for her.

Walking away, Pari went to the freezer. Throwing in the used gel packs, she pulled out a couple more before rejoining him in the living room.

Talking him through pulling up his shirt again, she wrapped them in a dry towel. Her motions were meticulous as she laid them carefully against his side, but the pain must have been wearing him down by that point because he actually grabbed her arm while flinching back with a loud groan.

Pari shook her head, apologizing. She knew she’d done nothing wrong, but the situation was unacceptable. The amount of pain he was suffering through was unacceptable, and she started going through the calculations in her head between his body mass and a corresponding dose from the tranquilizer. She almost reached out for it, but then stopped herself as a thought popped up in her mind.

“Hold tight, Mando. I’ll be right back.” She squeezed his hand once before releasing it from her arm and ran out of the room.

Flipping on the light to the refresher in her bedroom, Pari started tearing through the drawers to the sink. She knew exactly what she was looking for and prayed she still had some left. The drawers turned up to be a fail, so she crouched down and started hauling out things from under the sink.

First aid supplies, a bottle of distilled water, mouse traps, a candle, then she grabbed the basket on the other side and pulled it into her lap. It was filled with Band-Aids, ointments, tape, lotion, extra toothpaste, and gauze, all of which were getting chucked to the floor as she dug through the remaining contents. Again, she came up empty and flung it across the floor in frustration. She was about to look in the closet when something caught her eye.

Peeking out from under a bag at the very back corner of the sink’s cabinet was an orange bottle. Diving forward, her hand shot out and snatched it. She gave it a shake as she pulled it out of the cabinet, and the dull rattle of pills inside made her grin in relief. She looked at the date on the bottle. Nine years ago.

So fresh out of vet school, the ink on her degree was still wet when she’d taken a kick to the back from a heifer that had been gored by a bull with an attitude problem. The kick had cracked her hip and given her a sprained back just for good measure. The pain meds she held in her hand were what she’d classify as a heavy hitter. Sure, they technically expired years ago, but the stuff had an unofficial shelf life of practically forever.

Stepping through the mess littered across her floor, Pari ran out of the bedroom and headed straight for the kitchen. She returned to the Mandalorian with the prescription bottle and a glass of water. Getting his attention, she held up the bottle, telling him about the medicine and asked him if he was allergic to anything. He told her no, and she smiled in relief for him. “These will help.”

Pari popped the lid and tipped the bottle into his hand until a white tablet speckled with pink landed in his gloved palm. He looked at the pill, and she knew he was considering the side effects. Everyone knew being dosed up on strong pain meds made you groggy and soft. He wouldn’t have to worry about his edge being compromised anymore because he would probably lose it entirely.

Handing him the glass of water, Pari closed his hand around the pill. Gripping his fist, she leaned in close. His ragged breathing filled the quiet space as she stared straight into the visor on his helm, “You’re safe here. Mandalorians are in my family, and I respect whatever version of the Way you choose to follow. Take the pill, Mando. Allow yourself some relief from the pain.” She smirked, “Otherwise, I’ll tranq your ass into next week.”

He stared at her for a beat, then sighed. She took his response as acceptance and told him, “I’ll go wait in the kitchen. I won’t come back until you give the all-clear.” She held his gaze for a moment longer, “You can trust me.” Then, she got up and left the room.

Standing in the corner between the stove and the fridge, Pari hugged herself and looked down at her shoes. Bits of her mother’s conversation skipped through her mind, and she wondered what the hell she was doing. The guy needed proper medical attention, and the best she could do was offer this patchwork type of help.

Multiple broken ribs, internal damage, and a significant surgical wound that ran deep, she didn’t want to know how terrible it must be to be unmedicated while dealing with those types of injuries. The ribs would easily be the worst part. Give her five seconds, and she could rattle off a list of things that exasperated the pain that comes from that type of injury. To save time, she would just narrow it down by saying: Breathing, and pretty much anything else you did.

Again, she considered calling in the medics but then dismissed the thought as quickly as it formed.

He’d never go. The Mandalorian had made that quite clear from the beginning, and she was sure he hadn’t changed his mind. Besides, they wouldn’t take him if he refused treatment. They’d leave, and then feeling like he couldn’t trust her, he’d drag his broken body back to his ship and be gone too, and probably find a way to expire before dawn. With his injuries, it wouldn’t be hard to do.

A muffled cough pulled her out of her thoughts, and her head popped up. Pari listened, grimacing, as the Mandalorian rode out the groaning coughs. There came a few more, then she could tell by the slight change in pitch that he’d slipped the helmet back on. Still, she forced herself to stay put. She gave him her word. He coughed twice more, and then his voice was hoarse when he told her he was ready.

Pushing off the counter, she walked back into the living room. The Mandalorian handed her the glass as she approached, and she took it, placing it on the end table.

Laying on his back, the warrior was holding his middle. A residual cough crept up, and she could hear the wince in the muffled groan accompanying each spasm. Drawing his good leg back, he held his side and just breathed.

Empathy swelled inside her as she frowned down at him. The discarded blanket from earlier caught her eye, and she reached for it. Draping it over the soldier, she tugged it up to his waist and then reclaimed her perch beside him.

Animal or human, it didn’t matter to her as suffering always tore her up on the inside. Watching him struggle through it alone was unbearable to her, and she laid her hand on his arm. Squeezing it as she did earlier in her exam room, she again hoped the different stimulus would do something to help redirect a bit of his focus away from the pain.

Pari tried to add a variety of contact and drew her thumb over the muscle of his bicep with a firm stroke. His head rolled against the pillow toward her, and she tucked a lock of hair behind her ear, asking, “Is that okay?”

His voice cracked a little bit as he answered,  _ “...yes.” _

She replied with a quick quirk of her lips and squeezed his bicep. “This first dose, you should feel it working in about ten minutes—twenty for the full effect. It will take the edge off enough for you to relax, but it’ll be the next dose that will bring some serious relief.” She rubbed her thumb over the same spot again. “Talk to me. Tell me something about yourself.”

“What?” From his tone, you’d think she just asked him to recite the recipe for Deep-Fried Nuna Legs.

Her hand landed on the one clenched at his side. She gripped it tightly and then released. “Talking is another way to distract the pain.” He didn’t respond, so she drew in a breath and forced the conversation by asking, “Is bounty hunting your only profession?”

A beat, and then, “Yes.”

“Were you born into the creed?”

He shifted and let out a short breath. Voice tight, he answered,  _ “No.” _

That means he was either brought in as a foundling, or he willingly chose to convert when he came of age. A foundling pointed towards a tragic past, and she decided not to pry. Pari squeezed his hand, asking, “How old were you when you took the oath?”

Shifting his back, he sucked in a hiss. His stoic demeanor faded as the gloved fist under her hand cracked open and drew in her fingers. She rubbed her thumb over the leather covering his knuckles, and he stated, “Twelve.”

“And by your vows, you haven’t removed your helmet in front of another since then. Is that right?”

His grip tightened on her hand, and that time he skipped the verbal reply and just nodded and breathed.

She thought and then told him, “My brother in law was fifteen when he swore the oath; my father when he was slightly younger. Neither of them were born into the creed, but they both honor it as if they were—well, my father  _ did _ .” She’d already told him this back in the barn, but finished the thought anyway, “He died in combat when I was nineteen.”

Looking at the darkness outside her windows, she smiled at the memory of him. “He wouldn’t have been happy doing anything else with his life.” She looked down at his hand in hers. She squeezed and released, saying, “He always stood so proud in his armor, honored to wear it, to be a part of something bigger than himself.”

Pari swallowed, blinking past the pang of loss clouding her vision. His hand tightened around her own, “Your memories pay tribute to his sacrifice.”

Clearing her throat, her brows pinched, and she nodded. She smiled, “His death was honorable. Being a Mandalorian was all he’d wanted to do with his life since he was a boy, and he did a lot of good in that armor. It was a fitting end for him." Sitting back, she filled her lungs with a steadying breath, “Even if I wasn’t ready to say goodbye.”

“Loved ones never are.”

She responded with a wet chuckle that held a whisper of lonesomeness, “Very true.”

Bringing her focus back to her present, Pari let her gaze roam over the Mandalorian, taking stock of his condition. His breaths were still uneven and too rapid, but they were beginning to calm. There was still a rigidity to the way his frame lay against the cushions, but at least he didn’t seem to be fighting the pain as much.

Shifting the focus off herself, Pari squeezed his arm. “So,” she began again, “...do you have children?”

It was a rather personal question, she knew this, but what she’d just shared was also personal. Granted, he never asked her to share, but she figured what the hell, the worst that could happen was he would opt to ignore the question.

She was somewhat surprised that, after a pause, her question was answered on a tight exhale as he told her, “No, well, yes.”

Her thumb pressed across his bicep as her hand squeezed. She smiled, “Both yes and no?”

He huffed, and she couldn’t tell if it was a breathy laugh or if he was just breathing through the pain. Then he told her, “I have a foundling.”

Her smile grew, “That’s… amiable; boy or girl?”

“Boy.”

She squeezed his hand. “Where is he now?"

"With friends."

Pari nodded, "How long has he been in your care?”

His shoulders pressed back against the pillows, “About a year.”

“Is he very young?”

The Mandalorian swallowed before answering, “Yes.”

Her thumb rubbed along his arm, “How young?”

“That’s—” he cut off and took a couple of careful breaths. He turned to face her more, “That’s a complicated question.”

“How so?”

“He’s young; barely a toddler.” She pictured this fierce Mandalorian warrior with a baby in his care. Her smile turned soft, but then he elaborated, saying, “He’s also fifty years old.” The smile tumbled from her face.

A fractured breath came from behind the helmet, and this time she was sure he had laughed. A low groan followed immediately after, and he pulled his hand from her grip, clutching his side.

Thinking about what he’d just said, her eyes narrowed in concern as she looked down at him. “Maybe we should figure out a way to check you for a concussion after all.”

He raised a hand, “I’m not—"

“I could show you what to do,” she looked down at the scanner by her hip, “It’s pretty point-and-click.” He was shaking his head when she looked back. “I could leave the room again and view the results when you’ve finished.”

His hand moved from his side and grasped her arm, “Listen to me.” She frowned down at him, and the grip on her arm squeezed, just like she’d been doing with him. His head adjusted on the pillow so that his visor faced her dead on, “I’m not delirious.”

She leaned in closer, highlighting, “You just told me your foundling is a fifty-year-old baby.”

“Let me explain.”

This was the most conversation he’d been able to string together since before she left the house to give him time to eat. His hand tightened around her arm, asking for her attention, and she nodded.

The Mandalorian exhaled a weary breath, “He’s not human. I don’t know what species he is. So far, nobody does.” He paused. The grip he had on her arm fell away, coming to rest over his stomach, and Pari got the impression his thoughts were slowing down. She rubbed her thumb over his muscle, and he continued, “Species age differently. At least, that’s how it was explained once to me.”

She didn’t have to do the calculations to know that if what he was saying was true, if this foundling of his was actually fifty years old, but developmentally still only a toddler, the babe would easily outlive the Mandalorian before her. The amount of constant care the child would require was mind-boggling. He must have come to the same assumptions as her, yet he’d still taken this founding into his protection.

Pari bookmarked that thought as the leg he’d kept drawn up slowly extended back down to rest against the cushions. Her eyes landed on his chest, noting the way it rose and fell with more relaxed breaths. She moved her thumb over his arm with a light touch, asking, “Is the pain receding?”

“Yes.”

“Finally.”

A soft sound of amusement, and then, “Yes.”

After that, he became quiet.

Sitting beside him still, Pari thought back to their conversation. Every so often, she would graze her thumb over his arm, hoping the light touch would encourage him to let the medicine carry him away to where he could get some rest.

~~

It was the sound of rapid clicking that pulled him back to awareness.

The pain in his side remained constant but no longer drowned him in crashing waves like before. There was a heavy, disconnected feeling in his head and limbs. It made him feel like he was both floating and sinking at the same time.

Forcing his eyes open grounded him from all the floating, and he found the living room dark except for the warm glow of a fire crackling in the hearth. He wasn’t sure when the woman had started the fire, but gauging by the substantial pile of glowing coals, it had easily been a couple of hours ago.

Dragging his eyes back to where she sat by the fire, he realized the sound of soft clicking was coming from the machine balanced on her lap. Frowning from behind his visor, he tried to figure out what she was doing. It was an electronic device, that much was evident by the glow illuminating her features with a soft bluish light. He guessed she was working on something comparable to a datapad.

Watching her for another moment, his thoughts drifted, and he found himself contemplating on how she didn’t know him, had never met him before that night, and yet, she was doing everything within her power to help him. He thought about how she respected the Way and how she had tried to comfort him—talking with him, sharing stories from her father’s time as a Mandalorian. Rubbing his arm, she had sat with him, calming him until the medicine had numbed the pain enough that he’d lost the battle to stay awake.

His thoughts pulled him along as they drifted about his mind. He found himself trying to remember the last person who might have cared for him to such a degree and figured it went all the way back to his own mother. He was only six when the battle droids came to his planet and destroyed his entire world. He didn’t have a lot of memories left of his parents, but he knew they were kind, and he was loved.

His eyes closed on the thought that he usually didn’t allow himself to go there, to think back to how it was for him before the Mandalorians came. The corps had saved him and given him a new life. They hadn’t been able to save all of him before. Not when a part of him had already been shot down that day alongside his parents.

The portion of him that perished handicapped him when it came to forging relationships with others. The Mandalorians took him in as their own. Raised him, nourished him, and taught him how to be a warrior. During that time, he’d had plenty of opportunities to socialize with the other foundlings, and even his  _ buir  _ had tried to shower him with love and acceptance. For all their efforts, he had usually preferred to keep himself at a distance.

Keeping everyone at arm’s length had been simple. When you close yourself off, you project an air of being unapproachable, and that’s what he had done. It had just felt safer that way. Emotional walls and barriers had protected him from the pain of losing loved ones, but recently he had started wondering if shielding the heart, starved the soul.

Things had been changing rapidly for him lately, and he found maintaining his safety buffer of distance exceedingly hard to keep up with. His foundling had already torn down so many of his walls, and now, if he wasn’t careful, this woman with her gentle touches and open kindness might start to do the same.

If he was honest with himself, there were times when he  _ liked _ the kindness and comfort. He secretly liked it when his foundling refused to sleep in his pram, insisting on curling up on his chest instead. He liked it when the child brought him frogs, even though he still seemed confused about why he won’t eat them. And, oddly enough, he also liked it when the woman sitting by the fireplace would tuck a piece of hair behind her ear and smile at him.

His heart knew of pain and loss, and after caring for the child for over a year, it still urged him to keep up those emotional barriers. His soul, on the other hand, was becoming bolder, speaking louder and more forceful in its demands of what it needed—what  _ he _ needed from life to become whole again.

He hadn’t realized until taking in the child that he’d been walking around life with a considerable chunk of himself missing. His foundling had awakened that part in him, and acknowledging his love was worrisome, but at the same time, it gave him a different type of strength to draw from.

Thanks to his foundling, he now knew the love of a child. The care he received at the hands of the woman made him curious about what it might be like to experience the love of a companion. He didn’t think he’d be ready to explore that for some time. Regardless, thanks to a particular little green womp rat, he thought maybe one day, his heart might be able to handle the option of letting him find out. 

_ TBC. _


	5. A Spark of Hope

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I struggled with getting this chapter completed and ultimately decided I needed to split it into two parts because it was just getting way too long. I hope to have the second part posted very soon. Also, I've been sick, there may be errors. If you find any you want to let me know about, please do! 
> 
> I hope you enjoy it :)

Pari was sliding her jeans up past her hips when she heard her communicator going off in the kitchen. She didn’t remember leaving it out there last night and silently cursed as she yanked her shirt over her head. Usually, she liked to keep it nearby, especially when Sash wasn’t home, but the last twelve hours had been a clusterfuck of assorted colors, and this morning was looking only slightly better.

She still had a broken Mandalorian from another dimension crashed on her couch. Although, after getting him settled for the night, she had reached out to some people she knew she could count on to help with the complicated situation that had fallen into her lap. She was hoping that the call ringing in the kitchen was about to deliver more good news.

Opening the door to her bedroom, she wrestled with the button to her jeans as she jogged through the living room. She grabbed her communicator off the counter, answering with a breathy, “Hello?”

“Yes. This is Professor Clayton. May I speak with Pari Strart?”

“Professor Clayton,” Pari greeted. Snatching her coat off the wall hook, she stepped onto the back porch. “This is Pari. Hi.” She eased the door shut behind her. “Thank you for getting in touch with me so quickly.”

“My little warrior-dove,” his tone became warm. “It’s been quite a long time, child.” His deep chuckle carried over the line, and she was flooded with clips of fond memories from her youth. An old friend of her father’s, long before she was ever conceived, the professor was a loyal man with integrity. She has known him all her life.

Smiling, she pulled her hood over her head and turned her back on the biting northerly wind, “Too long, Professor. That’s my fault. I should stop by and say hi more often on the days I make it into town.”

“Oh,” he chuckled again, and she could picture him grinning as he leaned back in the wooden chair behind his desk. “You’ve got your own life to focus on. You have more important things to be worried about than coming to visit an old man sitting in a dusty university.”

“Hey. You’re not allowed to grow old, remember?”

His chuckle blossomed into a rich belly laugh at the command she used to give him as a child. “That’s right. I’m still working on that.” His laughter dialed down, and he got down to business. “So, Pari. Your mother tells me you had quite an event happen at your property last night.”

Stuffing her hands in her pockets, Pari paced across the back porch to keep warm as she laid out the details from the night before. She told him about the strange miscommunications she and the Mandalorian kept having, the clash of climate knowledge regarding their planet, and what she knew about the star in the Zulu sector going supernova.

After that, she wrapped it up by saying, “Professor, I was hoping that maybe you could come by for a visit and explain it all to him. I tried, but I can’t answer all his questions, and I can’t really expect him to buy into my theory without the evidence to back it up. You know?”

He hummed thoughtfully, and she added, “I hate to ask you to come out here, and we’d come to you, but the Mandalorian, he was badly injured and…”

“Oh, nonsense. I don’t mind coming out for a visit.” He paused and then snickered, “In fact, I’m secretly excited about it. It’s been eons since I’ve had the opportunity to work on an interdimensional project.”

“Do you think you can help him plot a course back to his dimension?”

“Well, I can’t make any guarantees, but if he was entering hyperspace from Hoth in his own galaxy, then that’s a pretty good starting point for us. The stars will burn for quite some time still… I’ll say that I’m optimistically hopeful.”

Feeling relieved for the Mandalorian, she closed her eyes, “Thank you, Professor.”

“Of course. Now, let’s see. My last lecture of the day gets out at one o’clock. I can be there by two-thirty if that will work for you.”

“That would be perfect.”

“Good.” She could hear the smile in his voice. “I’ll see you then.”

~~

Stepping back into the kitchen, the warmth of the house thawed her frozen cheeks, making them sting as she shed her coat. Pari draped it over the hook by the door and smiled. Glad that she had good news to share, she headed straight for the living room.

When she stepped into the room, her bustling pace slowed to a stop. The Mandalorian was still resting on her couch and looked okay. It was her dog that had her cocking an eyebrow in wonderment.

Riley was sitting directly in front of the warrior. He was just sitting there staring at him, and that was  _ all _ he was doing. He wasn’t trying to smell him; he wasn’t panting, blinking, or wagging his tail asking to be pet. For as still as he was, he might as well have been posing for an artist. Pari could barely tell that he was breathing, as he remained so focused on the man on her couch.

The Mandalorian’s visor faced the dog’s way, but he hadn’t so much as twitched since she came upon the scene. His arm rested protectively across his middle, and she noted how it rose and fell with each relaxed, even breath. It was a pretty good assumption that he was asleep and completely unaware of the way Riley sat with his chest all puffed out, studying him.

Pari had the odd thought of how strangely funny it would be if the man hadn’t been sleeping. If, instead, the Mandalorian and the dog were engaged in some sort of valiant stare-off. Pari tilted her head as she considered Riley’s stubborn streak. She pitted it against a similar trait she was coming to recognize in the soldier on her couch, and she couldn’t help but wonder who would win.

“He keeps staring at me.”

Whoa. All right; not asleep then.

Pari’s eyes darted from her dog to the Mandalorian’s visor, which had yet to turn away from his opponent. Shaking her head, she couldn’t help the grin as she walked into the room, ordering, “Riley, out.”

The dog turned around and walked up to her, and she passed him, saying, “It’s too early for creepy stalkers.”

Grabbing the pill bottle off the end table, Pari took a seat on the edge of the couch. Handing it over, she watched him hesitate. “Are we going to do this again?” He looked at her, and she said, “You’re probably not feeling too bad because of that second dose you got early this morning. Give it a few hours to fade completely, and you’ll remember how much last night sucked.”

He accepted the bottle, explaining, “I’m not against taking the medicine.”

“Then, what is it?”

“There are only five left.”

Her lips pressed together as she tried to connect the dots. “And you think we should space them out longer, to make them last?”

“That would be a good idea, but no, I was thinking that you only have five left and…”

Ah. Figuring it out, Pari smiled, “And you feel bad depleting me of my stash.”

“Yes.”

“Don’t worry about it, Mando. I’ve had those for over nine years. They’re older than my daughter, and if you didn’t go dimension-hopping last night, they’d probably still be sitting in the back of my cabinet for another nine.” She looked at the bottle. “Besides, I should have something better for you tonight.”

His helmet tilted, “What do you mean?”

“Do you remember me saying that my brother in law is a Mandalorian?”

“Yes.”

Pari picked up a slight alteration in the timber of his voice as he answered. She didn’t know why, but something about it pulled at her heart. She might be crazy, but it seems like a touch of lonesomeness surrounded him anytime she mentioned the Mandalorians from her world. It made her wonder about the dynamics of the creed in his galaxy, his tribe, and clan. 

“Well,” eyes softening, she looked at him as she continued. “My brother in law has been off-world for a while, busy on a peacekeeping mission, but I was finally able to get him on coms last night. I asked him to bring me some pain medicine from the corps medical supply. He’s expected to arrive later tonight.”

“Does he normally distribute Mandalorian supplies upon request?”

His words came at her with an air of discontent, and she challenged his tone with a look, “Nope; but when I mentioned that I needed it for an injured Mandalorian under my care, he responded by asking how much I wanted.”

“What did you tell him about me?”

“Only what was necessary—that you made an emergency landing last night because you were injured. I also told him you’re not from around here and needed his help. He told me he would arrive tonight.” When the Mandalorian in front of her didn’t react, she added, “I figured the specifics of your situation wasn’t mine to share.”

“I… appreciate that.” His tone softened, “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

He looked at her for a moment longer, and then his visor tipped down at the pill bottle in his hand. He reached out and placed it on the ottoman, and she asked, “How are you this morning? Nothing worse?”

“No, nothing is worse.”

“Did you have to get up at all last night?”

“No.”

“Okay, well, I have a few appointments showing up today, and I need to get out to the barn to get things set up.” Looking at him, she offered, “You should let me help you up while I’m still in here. It would be good for you to move around a little, and if you didn’t get up at all last night…” trailing off, she inclined her head in the direction of the refresher just off the dining room. “Might be a good idea to now.”

The Mandalorian exhaled. “Yeah, alright,” and flipped back the blanket.

Pari took the edge and pulled it the rest of the way off him and then helped him to his feet. They quickly found out the leg she had performed surgery on had stiffened up overnight, and she wrapped her arm around his waist. Supporting him, she told him to take it slow as they crossed the living room floor. By the time they reached the doorway to the refresher, he was moving better, and she felt okay about leaving him to it while she went back to her room to finish getting ready for work.

When she came back out, the couch was empty, and so was the refresher. She found him leaning against the countertop in her kitchen.

“How about some breakfast?” she offered, pulling a plate from the cabinet, and started grabbing things out of the refrigerator. Pari threw together some meats, cheese, fruit, and a thick piece of bread. Placing them on the plate, she glanced over at him, “How are you feeling now that you’re vertical?”

“Still better than last night.”

“That’s good. Do you feel lightheaded or dizzy or anything?”

“A little lightheaded, but I figure the drugs probably triggered that.”

Pari nodded, “Probably a safe bet.” She finished with the plate and then looked at him, “Do you want to rest in an actual bed instead of going back to the couch?”

“The couch is fine. It’s comfortable.”

Walking over, she leaned her hip against the counter, pointing out, “You could take your helmet off in the spare room, though. You’d probably sleep better.”

His visor tipped down at her, “I appreciate the offer, but I’m fine for now.”

“Okay, well, if you change your mind, you’ll let me know?”

“I will.”

Pari took his answer as the end of that conversation. She was confident that he would be more comfortable lying in bed, but the impression that he was still reluctant to drop his guard persisted. Keeping his helmet on, he could recuperate on the couch in the living room and still be aware of anyone entering the house from either side.

“Alright, then.” She took him by the arm as they headed back into the living room. Filling the quiet during their slow walk, she told him, “So, I’ve got another piece of good news for you this morning.”

His voice came out a touch strained as he asked, “What’s that?”

“I got in touch with an old friend of my father’s. He’s a professor at the university, and he specializes in star mapping and hyperspace—easy now,” Pari said as he braced himself on the arm of the couch and started to sit. Wrapping her arm behind his shoulders, she helped him control his descent and eased him back against the pillows. Bringing his bad leg up, Pari stuffed the pillow under his thigh again, “He’s going to come by this afternoon and explain what happened to you last night.”

Taking the edge of the blanket she handed over, he was quiet, and she left him to his thoughts as she went back into the kitchen. She was grabbing a glass from the cabinet when he called out, “Does he think it has to do with what you were talking about last night, an interdimensional wormhole?”

Filling the glass with water, she called back, “He’s fairly certain of it.” Picking up the plate, she went back into the living room. “Have you thought about it anymore?”

“Some.” He watched her put down the plate and glass on the ottoman and then tracked her as she sat down on the edge of the couch again. “The way I figure, it’s not… impossible.”

Pari looked over her shoulder and caught the dog trying to sniff the food from halfway across the room. Snapping her fingers, she pointed to the far wall, “Go lay down.” Riley gave one more rebellious sniff and then slinked off to obey her command by dropping down to the wood floor with a dramatic collapse.

Looking back at the Mandalorian, she remarked, “That’s quite a different tune you’re singing than just a few hours ago.”

He gave her a lazy shrug. “I was having a bad night.”

The simple motion gave her a glimpse of his personality, and she couldn’t resist the silent laugh that climbed out of her. “That’s a bit of an understatement, don’t you think?”

She passed him the pill bottle and the water. Taking them, he asked, “Did he say anything about being able to find a way back?”

The question was simple enough, but the words hung heavy in the air between them. It didn’t take a mind reader to know he was thinking about the foundling that got left behind. It made her think of her daughter, and her heart ached for him.

Sure, the foundling was not his child by blood, and he had said they’d only been together for a little over a year, but none of that mattered. That’s a year he spent taking care of the baby–feeding him, sheltering him, and soothing him. She knew there had to have been plenty of sleepless nights spurred on by upset tummies, bad dreams, stuffy noses, new teeth, and any of the other countless things that hone your patience and demand your love when it comes to raising a child. You don’t devote yourself to someone like that without worrying about them and missing them when you’re apart.

So, when he’d asked if the professor thought there might be a chance to find a way back to his child, she had laid a hand on his arm, telling him, “He’s almost certain of it.”

“That would be good.” He didn’t try to mask the relief from his voice, and she gave his arm a soft squeeze.

Pushing back to her feet, she held out a spare comlink. His gloved fingers took it from her, and she said, “If you need anything while I’m out in the barn; if you need help getting up, want to know how to work the TV, Riley evokes another stare down—” He snickered softly, and she grinned. “—anything. Call me.”

The Mandalorian closed his hand around the unit, and his visor tilted up toward her. “And… what should I call you?”

They looked at each other for a beat, and then she told him, “My name is Pari.”

~~

The corner of his mouth quirked upward. He didn’t know hardly anything about her. Regardless of that, circumstances had thrown them together at an intense pace. Forced into a situation swarming with high emotions, it was the kind of event that made a person pull a little from their soul just to be able to ride it out. By default, they were forging a common bond, and he couldn’t say why, but he had a feeling that her name was a good fit for the person she was. 

“How about you?” Her voice pulled him out of his thoughts. A simple smile lit her face as she added, “Or, should I just keep calling you Mando?”

He thought hard about that for a moment. “You could.” He took a breath, “Or, you could call me by my name—Din.”

“Din.” Her smile broadened as she spoke his name, then she quickly reeled it back in. Schooling her expression, it was interesting to him how she couldn’t hide it completely as she went on to say, “That’s much nicer than calling you Mando.”

It was strange for him still, giving people his name. In fact, aside from Cara and Greef, who only found out because they happened to be in the wrong place at the right time, he hadn’t told anyone since that day on Navarro. It linked him to a past life that was raw and vulnerable, and he felt guarded in whom he allowed knowing that part of him.

Cara was easy. Her loyalty was unquestionable. He trusted her with his life and with the child’s life as well. Over the past year, she volleyed back and forth between calling him Mando and Din. Coming from her, he found himself comfortable with both.

With Greef, well, the man still preferred to call him Mando, and that was just fine by him. They’d already had a long-standing business relationship under his pseudonym, and having the man address him in any other way seemed out of place and just... wrong.

As far as Pari went, she had pieced him back together and was going out of her way to help him with everything from his recovery to finding him a way to get back home. When he had thought about it, he found that sharing that part of himself with her, well, it just didn’t feel all that wrong. So, why not tell her who he was? Because, by his count, she had easily earned that right by now.

TBC

  
  



	6. The Beginnings of a Plan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 6: Part One

Pari was walking her client to their car when she saw a familiar dark sedan driving down her dirt road. She smiled, feeling both excited and guilty about meeting her old friend after so much time had passed since their last meeting.

Placing the pet carrier in the back seat, she held the elbow of the elderly woman as she ducked behind the wheel of her car. “Okay, Mrs. Flatig, just keep Nibbles on the dewormer twice a day for a week and then bring him back, and we’ll make sure all those tapeworms are long gone.”

“Oh, thank you, Pari,” her soft, wrinkled hand landed on her arm and patted it. “I can’t thank you enough. I was just so scared when he wouldn’t eat.”

“I know.” Pari nodded, “Our pets get to be like our kids, don’t they?”

“Yes, yes, they do.” She patted her arm again, and Pari reminded her, “Just give him a mixture of plain white rice and wet food for twenty-four hours with the medicine, and you’ll see him perk up quickly. Call me if you have any questions.”

“I will, dear.”

Mrs. Flatig’s car engine turned over as the professor pulled into her driveway, and Pari said, “Okay, drive safe,” and closed the door. Mrs. Flatig started to drive away, waving through her window until she pulled out onto the road.

Pari turned and saw Professor Clayton leaning back against his car smiling, and she pressed a hand to her mouth, covering her wide grin.

He held his arms out, and she ran to him.

Bending down from his tall stature, Pari wrapped her arms around his neck. He stood upright, bringing her up with him, and her feet dangled off the ground as she was enveloped into one of his tight bear-hugs. A deep growl flurried from his chest as he squeezed her. It flooded her with a rush of nostalgic feelings of love, safety, and kindness.

Her feet touched back down to the ground, and she planted a kiss on his cheek as she released her hold around his neck. “Maker, it’s been too long. I feel terrible about that.”

The professor chuckled, “What for?”

She tucked a piece of hair behind her ear, “Because I get so damn wrapped up in what I’ve got going on around here that I forget how long it’s been since we’ve had a chance to catch up.”

“Well, I’m just as at fault, you know. I could easily make the drive out here, but I guess that is where you and I share a common fault.” He winked at her, “Maybe we should work on that.”

Following him around to the trunk of his car, she grinned, “Definitely.”

He started pulling out equipment, and she reached in to help as he asked, “Where would you like to set up?”

She looked at the projector in her hands and the star maps he had tucked under his arm. “Would the living room be okay? The Mandalorian was pretty badly injured during the dimension jump, and I’m afraid he’s going to be anchored to my couch for a while.”

He walked around to the back seat and opened the door. “That won’t be a problem at all. Are you sure he’s up to all this?”

Pari nodded, “He should be. It’s been a quiet day, and I know he’s been resting.”

Clayton looked at the equipment that weighed down them both and then said, “I don’t want to overload the lad.”

Smiling, she touched his arm, “I’ll throw you a sign if I think we need to cut it short.”

He closed the back door. “Same one as usual?”

Pari thumbed her nose twice and tugged her earlobe.

His head kicked back with a rich laugh, “I can’t believe you still remember that.”

Turning to walk through her carport, she bumped her shoulder against his arm, saying, “Having a secret code used to drive Dad nuts. It was great.”

The professor chuckled.

They were stepping onto the front path when the door to her house closed. She looked up and saw the Mandalorian standing on the deck. It should have been a shock to see him up and on his feet, but she’s known too many Mandalorians in her life for it to do much more than make her sigh. He started to cross the wood planks, and it was the swiftness in his movements and how he had managed to pack away most of his limp that concerned her the most.

Riley ran down the deck steps, running circles around them as the professor leaned toward her. Speaking low, he asked, “Thought you said he was badly injured?”

Gritting her teeth, Pari hissed,  _ “He is.” _

“Ohhh....” Eyes going wide, the professor gave her his  _ oh shit _ glance, chuckling, “I know that tone.”

Pari knew why Din was hiding his injuries in front of someone he was meeting for the first time. She knew the honor and pride that gets drilled into their young heads by the corps. She’s seen it put to action many times by her father and Junn’s brother. Not as much by her aunt and uncle as they lived off-planet and she rarely got to see them anymore, but still, she knew.

She also knew the theory behind it: Strong Body. Strong Soul. Strong Creed.

On the Base, it was a different story entirely. Surrounded by the Tribe, rest and healing are urged upon you to take as a top priority. The tribe comes together to help where they can. The whole unit was like a big extended family. One that had accepted her and Sash as their own.

Shortly after Junn had passed, his brother, Rherr, had brought them to the base and claimed them as his immediate family. In the eyes of the Tribe, she is his sister, not by law, but by clan. After her induction, she was told that family ties stretch far beyond where blood and laws alone cannot.

As they climbed the steps to the deck, Pari reminded herself that Din wasn’t under the protection of his own Tribe right now. He was stuck in a strange land, surrounded by people he didn’t know. As much as she hated to see him pretending that he was okay, she understood the motivation behind it.

Reaching the top, Pari introduced the two men and opened the door for the professor. Din started to follow the man inside, and Pair blocked his path with an arm across the doorway. She was discrete as she told him, “I know you’re used to dealing with your injuries in your own way, and I’m only going to say this once, and then I’ll leave the rest up to you.”

He looked down at her, and she stressed, “With the internal damage you’re walking around with, any doctor would have ordered you off your feet for a week, probably two. I know that’s not going to happen here, just,” rubbing at her eyebrow, she sighed. “Try to be careful. Don’t push yourself too far. Otherwise, you’re going to find yourself running headlong straight into an invisible wall. And it’ll suck.”

He brought a hand up and placed it over the one she had braced against the doorway, “You should trust me to know my limits.” His gloved fingers closed around her hand as he gently lowered her arm. The secure grip on her hand remained as he finished by saying, “But, yes, I’ll be careful.”

She’d fully expected him to sound annoyed after her little nag fest, but if he was, she didn’t pick up on it. “Okay.” Gesturing into the house, she offered, “After you.”

In the living room, Clayton was busy laying out maps, a holoprojector, and datapads. Looking up, he asked, “Where’s Sash?”

Stepping forward to lend a hand, Pari told him, “She’s with my mom. She’ll be back around five o’clock if you wanted to stay for supper?”

“Oh, that’s kind of you, but I’m afraid I only have a little time before I have another appointment to get to.” He inserted a disk into the projector. “That’s too bad, though. I was hoping to see the little spitfire. I imagine she’s still growing up entirely too fast for my liking.”

Leaning around Pari, the professor addressed Din, “You’ll like this little one.” He snickered, throwing Pari a glance. “Sash is a little warrior-dove, just like her mom.”

Din’s helmet tilted in interest, and he turned to face her.

Clearing her throat, Pari felt the burn of shyness creep up her neck and color her cheeks. “Fill you in later,” she muttered at him. Pushing up her sleeves, she cuffed the professor on the shoulder, “Let’s just focus on the wormhole, shall we?”

“Yes, all right.” Giving her a wink, Clayton flipped on the projector.

A blue map of their galaxy sprang up, turning as it filled the space in the room. Din walked toward it and the professor adjusted the settings to zero in on their star system. Pulling out a laser pointer, he began explaining what had happened.

He talked about their two dimensions for a bit and then picked up a datapad. Swiping across the screen, the image of two stars going supernova popped up. Clayton brought up Din’s dimension beside theirs along with the two stars. Everything rotated in its natural pattern around each other, and then he touched the screen on the datapad. The stars exploded within almost exact timing of each other.

Then, what looked like a bolt of lightning extended between Din’s dimension and theirs. Clayton referred to it as the “lightning bridge.”

Stepping up to the lightning bridge, Professor Clayton looked at Din, “You said you were leaving Hoth?”

Din moved around the projection and found the planet in his dimension. “Yes,” he pointed at the planet, and then looked at the wormhole far below it. “I had just entered hyperspace.”

The professor nodded, pointing at the projection. “You entered hyperspace at this point, correct?”

“Yes,” he answered, and using a gloved finger, drew the trajectory of where the hyperspace was supposed to take him. Then he stopped, and his hand dropped down to his side.

The professor nodded at what Din was seeing, and Pari said, “Your hyperspace travel must have intersected the interdimensional wormhole. That must have been the left turn you experienced. It sucked you right in and spat you out on the other end. Our dimension.”

“That is  _ exactly _ what happened,” Clayton agreed.

Din looked at the projection for a bit longer and then cursed. Hands landing heavily over his hips, he sighed at the rotating galaxies. 

Pari looked at the professor, and he nodded, “Okay, so.” Din’s visor turned toward the man. Gesturing at the projection, he said, “Now that we know what happened, the good news is I am almost certain that I can get coordinates plotted to get you back to your own dimension. It should only take me, oh...” His face punched in thought as his head bobbled a couple of times, “... about two weeks to finalize.”

Din’s hands dropped from his hips.  _ “Two weeks?” _ he breathed.

Clayton hummed in agreement, and Din said, “I—” He cut off, shaking his head. “That won’t work.”

The professor blinked, and Pari could see the surprise flash across his features from Din’s response. “I’m sorry, Mando, but plotting courses between dimensions is a tricky business. If I don’t get them just right, Maker knows where you’ll end up. You could pop out at the farthest reaches of space, much too far to reach any hospitable planet or right in the middle of a black hole.”

Din sighed. “I understand. It’s just…” His hand pulled on the back of his neck as he cursed again.

Confused, the professor looked at Pari and she started to explain, “He has…” she glanced at Din.

“I have a child back home. He’s just young—a toddler. The people who are taking care of him, they’re expecting me.” Din’s movements looked slower, weary, as he eased himself to sit on the arm of the couch. He sighed again. “In another eight hours, I’ll officially be declared MIA.” He looked at the professor, “I’ve got to get back sooner.”

Turning off the projector, Clayton set his laser pointer down. He looked at the Mandalorian. Speaking with compassion, he said, “I’m sorry, son, but it’s just not possible.”

Pari watched Din’s hands clenched into fists as he worked to keep his frustrations in check.

Clayton must have also noticed because he stepped forward and his large hand dropped down over the Mandalorian’s shoulder. His deep voice became a quiet rumbling murmur as he said, “I can sympathize with you, Mando. I have four children of my own, and I know I’d be out of my mind if I were forced to be separated from them like you are, especially when they are as young as your child is.”

Din looked out the windows and then, giving him a silent nod, looked at the floor. Like Clayton, Pari’s heart went out to him. The room was quiet for a moment, and then the Professor dropped his hand. Striding over the star maps, he started rifling through them.

Pari and Din looked at each other and then moved together to stand on either side of the older man.

He was talking to himself while scrolling through one of the datapads and then started unrolling one of his plastic star maps. Running a hand over his mouth, he nodded to himself, “Yes. Yes, I think that could work.” He turned to Din, “While it’ll take weeks to plot your return trip… In  _ theory _ ,” he raised a tentative hand, ”we might be able to send a transmission much sooner. Possibly by tomorrow morning if I am calculating things correctly.”

Din looked at Pari and then back at the professor. “A message; you can do that?”

“In theory, yes. It’s just data particles moving through space. Much easier to send data bytes through the wormhole than an entire gunship. The smaller the object, the less chance of miscalculation. The only thing is like I said, it’s a theory, so we won’t know if it goes through or not, and they won’t be able to send a return message. But at least they’d know you were alive and working to get back to them.”

Din was quiet for a minute, then sounded a touch more upbeat, “It’s better than nothing. When do you want to record it?”

“We can do it right now if you want to, and then I’ll take it home with me and get the calculations figured out. I’ll let Pari know as soon as it is sent.”

Pari looked at Din, and he nodded, saying, “It’s a start. Let’s do it.”

~~

The professor’s visit lasted just over two and a half hours. By the time Din shook his hand, giving him his gratitude, and watched Pari walk him back out to his car, he was feeling somewhat better about the situation. He was also feeling completely drained.

Being in a state of perpetual low energy was already starting to frustrate him. Settling himself carefully on the arm of the couch again, he reminded himself that healing from his injuries was going to take time. There was a process to it, and if he tried to force it, he’d only end up prolonging his recovery period. He expected he would have to remind himself of that more than once throughout his stay.

Looking through the living room windows, he noticed Pari jog up the deck steps. She stepped inside and smiled, “So, what did you think of the professor?”

“He knows what he’s talking about, of that I feel certain.”

She nodded, “He’s the best star mapper on Jakku.” Tucking her hair behind her ear, she looked him over, “How are you holding up?”

“Honestly?” He grimaced behind his visor, “Pretty run down.”

Taking a step closer, she touched his arm, “You need a hand laying down?”

He looked at her, “Actually, I’d like to grab a shower while I’m still on my feet. Could you give me a lift out to my ship?”

~~

The ramp in the hull closed with its usual heavy whine, and Din pulled off his helmet. The familiarity of being in his ship had him slipping into old habits, and he started to tuck it under his right arm. He only had to extend his elbow out before a slice of pain reminded him why that wouldn’t be a good idea.

“All right…” he muttered to himself. Gripping the edge of his helm, he used the arm on his good side to steady himself as he moved through the ship.

Taking his time on the journey to the front of the cargo bay, Din had never been so glad to have everything he needed on the bottom deck. His right arm pressed close against his damaged side as he grabbed a shelving unit on his left, stabilizing him as he walked. Aside from Navarro, the last time he could remember being beaten up this badly was... well, he wasn’t sure; it had to have been years.

Making it to the front of the ship, he leaned against the cabinet where he kept his clean clothes and tried to ignore the way his leg trembled as it strained to keep him on his feet. When he had pushed himself off the couch before the professor arrived, he’d known that shielding his injuries from the newcomer would have him paying for it later. Regardless, it never occurred to him to do otherwise.

The professor was a stranger. Even though Pari referred to him as a family friend, Din didn’t know the man, and revealing the extent of his injuries would have been a show of weakness on his part and, in turn, would reflect weakness upon the creed. End of story.

Pulling out the clothes he needed, he stepped into the narrow refresher and went about shedding the articles he wore. The whole process was annoyingly more difficult than it should ever have to be.

He dropped his shirt to the floor, and his arms broke out in gooseflesh as the frigid air of the ship brushed against his skin. He could have turned on the heaters, but they ran off jet fuel. He needed to conserve what he had. It was the only reason he didn’t decide to camp out in the  _ Crest  _ for a few hours—just to be able to relax without his helmet on.

It would have been a nice luxury, but at the same time, it wasn’t all that disappointing. He was used to the helmet, and Pari’s house was comfortable. Thinking about that made Din realize he was starting to enjoy her company. He couldn’t help wondering what Sash was like.

_ Warrior-dove. _

Straining to find a position that would allow him to kick off his boots, Din thought about the intriguing title the professor had addressed the girls by. You don’t get dubbed an elaborate nickname like that without there being a story to go with it. Din figured he’d have to ask Pari about that later.

Unbuckling his belt, he let the ends hang from his pants as he looked down and scowled at the spread of deep bruising along his entire right side. Dragging a hand across his torso, Din stopped at a mark on his abdomen, just under his ribs, just under the lower plate on his armor. He thought about when Pari had pressed against the area that first night. It had felt like she had punched her fist straight through his insides.

Din recalled her statement earlier about how anywhere else; he would be ordered to light duty for a couple of weeks while his damaged organs healed. She hadn’t been exaggerating. He knew how careful you had to be with injuries like his, and he mentally reconfirmed his plan to force himself to take it easy. Further injuring himself could find him unable to pilot the ship once the professor finished the coordinates. That meant he would be trapped here, and that was unacceptable. Getting back to his foundling was the only thing that mattered.

Cutting through the gauze wrapped around his thigh, he dropped his pants and pulled off his socks. Din started the shower, turning it up as hot as it would go.

He stepped in and breathed out a long exhale of satisfaction as days’ worth of sweat, grime, and blood were rinsed from his skin. Pressing a hand against the shower wall, he let the hot water cascade over his aching body, and while the heat of it was too harsh against the suture line on his thigh, it felt much too good on the rest of him to consider adjusting it.

Din could have stayed under the spray of the shower for a long while. However, having the hot water on full blast meant he only had about two more minutes before it ran out, and he wasn’t in the mood for an ice-cold shower today.

Grabbing the shampoo bottle, he started scrubbing his hair with his left hand and got to work at getting himself clean.

~~

Pari was sitting on the tailgate to her truck just outside the ship as she played fetch with Riley. Pulling her coat around her, she watched him run back at her. Ears pasted along the side of his head, he held the ball in his mouth as he charged through the frosty field.

“Good boy. Bring it here,” she told him, holding out her hand.

He deposited it in her gloved palm. “Good boy, Riley,” Throwing it overhand again, the dog raced after it.

The ramp to the ship started to lower just as the comlink in her ear chirped. Touching a finger to her com, she answered, “You ready?”

“Almost. Could you…” he trailed off, and she slid off the tailgate as he continued, “I need your help with something. Could you come in here for a minute?”

“On my way, ” she answered, already walking up the ramp as the dog shot past her on the left.

“Riley! Get over here,” she called after him, but there was no real heat behind the command. The goofy furball stopped at the top of the ramp, grinned at her, and then trotted off inside.

Pari found the dog sniffing around in a few of the crates beside the Mandalorian. “Riley, out.” He stood there looking at her, and she snapped her fingers and pointed again. “Out.” That time there was no mistaking the stern command, and he trotted down the ramp and straight on to the nearest tree in search of a few squirrels to play with.

Pari turned back around and walked through the ship. She went to where Din sat perched on the edge of an overturned metal crate. “You okay?” she asked as she approached.

“Yeah, I just,” Din sighed, “I see that wall you were talking about earlier.”

She took a second to look him over. His clothes were practically an exact duplicate of the set he’d been wearing, but she could tell by the lack of wrinkles this was a fresh outfit. He appeared all put together until she looked down and noticed his socked feet and the abandoned boots resting by the side of the crate.

“Could you help me with my boots? No matter what I try, I can’t reach them without experiencing some intense pain in my side.”

“Sure.” Pari took a knee by his feet and grabbed one of his boots. Loosening the laces, she remarked, “I’m not even sure how you managed your socks.”

“It wasn’t fun.”

“I don’t doubt it,” Pari sympathized as she guided his foot into the boot. Pulling on the top, she helped it slide into place. She was taking up the slack on the laces when she heard his low grumble.

“I feel a little ridiculous.”

She frowned up at him. “What in the world for?”

“I haven’t needed help getting dressed since…” He didn’t finish.

Pari fastened the buckle at the top of his boot. “Din, I’m going to tell you something my father used to say to me.” Grabbing the Mandalorian’s other boot, she started the process over as she spoke. “He used to tell me: ‘Pari, if you’re not careful, your pride will make you weak.’”

Tying the laces, she slipped the leather strap through the buckle. “It takes much more strength to ask for help than it does to pretend you don’t need it.” Touching his knee, she gave it a light squeeze and looked at him. “Just something to think about.”

~~

In the house again, Din sank back against the pillows on the couch.

Gazing at the fireplace, he allowed himself to zone out a little as he watched the way the orange flames danced around, licking the pieces of split wood Pari had just thrown on. The fire’s radiating warmth seemed to reach out to him, thawing him from the chill of standing dripping wet in the frigid steel belly of his ship.

Tugging on the thick blanket, he settled under it. A soft, fatigued exhale pulled from him as his healing body urged him to slip behind the veil and find sleep. The fire’s trance on him held steady, almost dragging him under as Pari walked into the room.

Din looked at her, and then at the ice packs she held in her hand. Tracking her movements, he watched with a kind of detached stare as she didn’t bother to ask before fixing one of the packs to his thigh. When she moved to sit on the couch beside him, her hip brushed against his side as she pushed his shirt up.

He had a brief moment of interest in himself, at how he was allowing her to do what was necessary to help him—even going as far as letting her fully expose his abdomen. Other than the healers in the covert, no one had been this bold with him since he swore himself to the creed. He also hadn’t given anyone a chance to, either.

Usually, he’d maintain a wall of distance between his injuries and anyone else. Especially when it came to allowing someone to do something he was more than capable of doing himself—like, situating gel packs along his side.

Though, as he lay there, in front of Pari, watching her as she used a gentle touch to feel along the bruising that marked his skin, Din wondered if it was the pain medication holding him back from pushing her hands away or if it was something more complicated. It almost felt like something was waking in the darkness of his mind. Something that whispered to him how nice it felt to be taken care of, and how much better it was than being on his own to do a quick patch job before forcing himself to push through.

“Nothing’s worse?”

Din’s gaze traveled from the hand she held over the frozen gel pack on his side to her eyes. “Nothing’s worse.”

“That’s good.” She flashed him a smile as her touch slid from his side to linger just above his hip. Again, more of that unnecessary touching. It wasn’t all bad.

He tilted his head toward her. “Tell me about warrior-dove.”

“Oh, Maker...”

Din watched her cheeks fire into an intense rosy pink. Smiling, Pari tucked her hair behind her ear. That was when Din realized it was a nervous habit more than merely wanting her hair out of her face.

Sitting back, she clasped her hands together. “Okay, so, I told you Professor Clayton had been a friend of my father’s since before I was ever thought of. They went to school together. My father went the Way of the Mandalorian and Professor Clayton to the University. They remained good friends and would get together for weekly dinners. He and his wife were always around when I was growing up.”

She looked out the window and Din could tell she was bringing up a memory from her past. Her hazel eyes searched through the glass as she said, “I think I was around eight, about Sash’s age, when I had gotten into a fight at school.”

Her gaze shifted back to him. “I got sent home early, and my parents couldn’t pick me up, so they called the professor. When he walked into the office, I was arguing with the principal. I didn’t think it was fair that I was being sent home when the bully that had pushed my friend down on the playground got to stay. The principal kept trying to end the discussion, but I wouldn’t back down. I called him unfair, and I think I also called him a phony because I wasn’t the only one who fought, but I was the only one getting punished.”

She paused, and the room became quiet as she looked at him for a moment. There was a pop from the fire, and she asked, “Are you still awake?”

He grinned. “Yes.”

“Just checking. I’ve been rambling and you’ve been very still.”

“Just listening.”

Smirking at him, she continued. “Well, so, the professor talked to the principal, telling him he would speak with my parents and all that. We walked out of the school building and got into his car. I remember being a little pissed at him. It seemed to me that he was taking the principal’s word over mine. So, he pulled out onto the road, and then he just started laughing—I mean, really laughing.

“I didn’t get it, and I asked him what was so funny. He told me that up until then, he’d been convinced that I had the spirit of a dove in my heart. I was kind and polite; I liked to help whoever I could, and I loved my animals like they were my brothers and sisters. But he said that day he realized both the spirit of a dove and the spirit of a warrior were melded inside of my heart. He told me l sought after love and peace, but also stood up against injustice and wasn’t afraid to go to battle over it.”

Pari shrugged, “Apparently, he sees the same in Sash. I don’t know about the warrior part, though. I think he’s just getting that confused with being headstrong and obstinate.”

Din’s eyes burned from exhaustion, but he had to ask, “This bully that was hurting your friend, was it boy or girl?”

A devious little smirk played on her lips. “Boy. Juntroy Sneebick.”

He hummed at that. Then he asked, “Did you win?”

“Kicked his little punk ass into the next week.”

Her spirited retort caught him off guard, and he laughed. Grabbing his side, he swallowed down a groan, saying, “I don’t know about headstrong and obstinate being the only things the professor saw in you that day. I’ve been around an awful lot of warriors throughout my life, and I think I’m picking up a little on what he was talking about. Warrior-dove might, in fact, be a good fit for you.”

  
  



	7. Children Are the Future

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 6--Part 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't thank you enough for all your kindness, comments and kudos! Here is a new chapter. I might be able to post the next one tomorrow. I hope you enjoy!

_ “Pretty much all the honest truth telling there is in the world is done by children.” _

_ — Oliver Wendell Holmes, _

* * *

“You mentioned Sash is eight?” Din asked. Stretching carefully, he watched Pari as she wrangled with a piece of smoldering firewood.

After their conversation a couple of hours ago, he had dropped off quickly. When he woke, it was to the sound of running water and clanking dishes from the kitchen. The smell of meat and spice followed and had hit him with a quick double-punch to his senses, making his stomach grumble and his mouth water.

If Pari was cooking supper, he had figured it was close to the time her daughter would be arriving.

At the moment, the animal healer was busy muttering to herself or to the glowing log, he wasn’t entirely certain. Grunting, she finally worked it free from where it had been wedged between the rack and the brick wall of the fireplace. She threw it back into the fire with a huff of annoyance.

Hanging up the fireplace tongs, she answered his question. “Eight; yes,” and then tossed a few more pieces of wood into the flames. Brushing her hands on her pants, she stood upright and dragged a hand across her brow. Pari plopped down in the chair to her right and sighed. “I should prepare you to meet the mini hurricane.”

“How do you mean?”

Picking up a coffee cup from the side table, Pari sipped from it and grinned. “She’s probably going to be a little bit hyper when she gets here. My mom isn’t strict about limiting sweets like I am, and there is a pretty good chance she’ll be bouncing off the walls. Especially after I tell her that we have a guest staying with us.”

“Ah.” Din smirked behind the black of his visor. “I’m sure it’ll be fine.”

“She tends to talk nonstop when she’s excited. If it gets to be too much, just give me a high-sign, and I’ll redirect her.” Bringing the cup to her lips again, she mumbled, “…somehow.” Leaning over the arm of the chair, she picked up a stick fragment.

Din watched her toss it into the fire, “Pari, stop stressing.”

“I’m not stressing.”

He adjusted on the pillow, and the black T of his visor leveled a look at her, “It’s like you’re trying to prepare me for a grueling interrogation session.”

She pointed at him. “You joke, but you don’t realize how accurate that may be.”

Riley came up to her and sat down so close he jarred her leg. She didn’t seem to notice. The dog slid along her leg until he plopped down against the wood floor. Head resting on her socked foot, his long body stretched toward the fire.

Pari rubbed along the dog’s belly with her other foot, telling him, “It’s just that I know it can be a lot for some people to deal with a spirited kid if they’re not used to it.”

His chin lifted. “You assume that I’m not used to it.”

“Your foundling? Developmentally, he’s—what… two? Three?”

“Something like that, but I’m not talking about my foundling. I’ve spent plenty of my adult life around children. I know how they can be when they’re excited.”

She looked at him, “Other foundlings?”

“Some, and some are children born of the tribe.”

Seeming to have forgotten about the cup in her hands, Pari said, “My brother, Rherr, his tribe practically revolves around the children. They’re viewed as the heartbeat of the Mandalorian. Is it the same way where you’re from?”

Din acknowledged her question with a somber bow. “Children are the future.”

~~

It was less than an hour later when the thundering of small feet hit the front porch steps. Din turned to look out the window and into the night, but before the girl could come into view he heard Pari’s voice drift up from below.

“Back door, Sash.”

“Why?” Muffled by the windows, the girl’s retort sounded close.

“Screen door’s locked.” Pari’s reply came from farther off now, and he could tell she had abandoned the girl on the front as she headed for the back of the house.

Din easily gauged the girl’s energy in her quick of her footfalls as she ran back down the porch steps, calling, “Mom; wait for me!”

A small commotion erupted in the small utility room off the kitchen as they entered the back of the house. The thudding sound of boots, muffled voices, and Riley’s whining bark preceded the slamming of the screen door, followed quickly by the storm door.

“Riley,  _ get back! _ ” Sash griped.

“He’s just excited to see you.” Pari.

“Well, he doesn’t need to block me in! I can’t even get into the kitchen.”

“Then have pity on him and say hi. You know that’s all he wants.”

A sigh, long and dramatic.  _ “Hi, _ Riley.”

“Geez, Sash. Don’t put yourself out.”

The commotion became louder as it tumbled into the kitchen. “Well, he wouldn’t even let me in the door.”

“Poor dog,” Pari lamented as coats were being shed, and boots kicked off. “That’s okay, buddy. I still love you.”

The corner of Din’s mouth tugged upward at the way Pari laid it on thick.

_ “Mom.” _

“What?” Pari asked, sounding genuine. “He needs to know at least one of us still likes him.”

_ “MOM…” _

“Okay, okay,” Pari laughed, and then, because of what she said next, Din assumed she had already told the girl about him. Standing close to the entryway to the living room, but still out of view, Pari asked her daughter, “Well? You going to just stand there, or are you going to come here and say hi?”

A patch of silence, and then Pari walked into the living room. Sash entered, pasted closely behind her mother. The only glimpse of her Din got was a strip of long chestnut hair a couple of shades lighter than Pari’s. From where her hands rested against her mother’s back, he calculated the girl to be roughly four feet plus an inch or two tall.

Taking a chance, Sash sneaked a peek at him from around Pari’s waist. Familiar hazel eyes landed on him before she ducked for cover again behind her mother. Din looked up at Pari, and she grinned, giving him and a half shrug before she went over to the armchair by the fireplace.

There was room for only one and Din quickly realized she was hanging the girl out to dry. The action was ornery in nature, giving him deeper insight to a mischievous quality of Pari’s personality.

Riley sat down in front of the pair as Sash shimmied her small body onto the arm of the chair. Pressed as close to her mother as she could get without being in her lap, she stared at him.

Waiting for Sash to make the first move, Din laid still on the couch, allowing her to get comfortable with his presence at her own pace.

The girl had her arms around her mother’s neck as she leaned in close to whisper in her ear. It was that breathy kind of kid-whisper that ends up being louder than if she had just spoken with a low tone to begin with.  _ “Do you think he’s asleep?” _

Pari’s head tilted at him as she considered her daughter’s question. She knew he wasn’t. They had just been talking before the grandmother’s car had pulled into her driveway. Regardless, she looked at him, and he caught the same ghost of mischief in her smirk.

Turning to look back as Sash, she said, “I’m not sure. Why don’t you give him a wave and find out?”

Sash looked at her mom like she was waiting for her to save her, and Pari just reached out to scrub the dog behind his ear. After a moment, the girl’s curiosity got the better of her, and she gave him a shy little wave.

Raising a gloved hand, Din waved back.

Snatching her hand out of the air, Sash pressed her face against the side of her mother’s head.

“So,” drawing out the word, Din looked at Pari. “This is her being talkative?”

Pari started to reply when Sash’s voice blossomed beside her mother, “He sounds so cool!”

Pari turned and gave Sash a look, “Why do you sound so shocked? You’ve been around your  _ ba'vodu _ in uniform plenty of times.”

“Yeah, but he hardly ever wears the helmet around here.” She looked back at him, grinning. The innocent enthusiasm of it drew a smirk out of him.

Still too shy to address him, Sash turned back to her mother and whispered again, “What’s his name?”

Pari shifted in the chair to fix her daughter with a look. “One: stop whispering. It’s rude. And two,” she brushed her daughter’s hair back, “that’s not for me to give out. Why don’t you go over and introduce yourself and then you can ask what he wants you to call him.”

The girl froze at the implied order. She looked at her mother for a moment, and Pari chuckled, “He’s not going to bite you, Sash.” Apparently too old for the adage to hold any effectiveness with her, Sash just rolled her eyes with a huff like her mother was being weird.

Pari countered by shoving the kid off the arm of the chair. 

Surprised by the move, Sash squawked, and then moved to stand beside the dog. Din watched her as her hand landed on Riley’s ear and twisted it as he would the handle of a speeder bike. Din pitied the animal a little as Riley’s head moved with her while she kept his ear in her grasp until she stepped past.

The visor of Din’s helmet followed the girl as she approached the couch. Coming to stand beside him, she looked down at him for a beat, and then Riley saved her by letting loose with the most powerful sneeze Din had ever heard.

“Man!” Pari voiced as everyone turned to look at the dog who was on his feet and turning his head side to side with this strange, constipated expression. Then, he sneezed again, that one just as intense as the first.

“Riley!” Sash laughed along with her mother as Pari leaned forward to pet the dog that was staggering towards her. Turning back to the couch, Sash smiled at Din, saying, “He probably got a snout full of smoke or something.”

His head bowed. “Might have.”

Sash looked at him for a beat and then extended her hand, “Hi, I’m Sash.”

The Mandalorian’s gloved hand enveloped the little girl’s as he shook it. “I’m Din.”

She dropped her hand, “Mom says, you’re not from around here.”

“That’s correct.”

Sash nodded as she thought and then with the honesty of a child, relayed, “She also said you were hurt.”

The statement didn’t faze him much, and he replied, “That’s also correct.”

Drawing in her bottom lip, she sucked on it before asking, “Are you hurt badly?”

Looking back at Sash, he repaid her earlier honesty by simply answering, “Yes.”

She frowned, “I’m sorry that you’re hurting.”

Din found a familiar look of worrying empathy in the girl’s gaze, and he exhaled softly, “Thanks, but it’s not that bad. Your mom gave me some medicine that dulls the pain.”

The girl seemed satisfied enough by his answer, and her eyes dipped down to look at the signet on his pauldron. “Is that a mudhorn?” she asked as her fingertip landed on the point of its horn.

“It is.”

“That’s your signet, right?”

“Yes.”

“That means you fought one?”

“That’s right.”

She looked up at him, “They’re mean.”

Her matter-of-fact tone was amusing, and the corner of his mouth ticked up as he confirmed, “Yes, they are.”

“Why would you want to fight one?”

“I didn’t  _ want _ to fight one. I had to.”

“Why?”

He spared a glance at Pari, and she gave him a subtle  _ I told you so _ smirk.

Looking back at her daughter, Din explained, “I made a deal with someone. They had something I needed, and in order to get it, I had to retrieve the mudhorn’s egg for them. I fought the mudhorn to get the egg.”

“What did they want with the egg?”

Adjusting his head on the pillow, Din let his done dip, “To eat it.”

Nose wrinkling in disgust, her expression perfectly colored the words that followed. “That sounds disgusting!”

Pari laughed from her spot by the fireplace, and Din told the girl, “Believe me, it was.”

Looking repulsed, she turned away from their conversation to look at the rocking chair that held the back and chest plates to his armor. She walked over to it. When she reached out to touch it, Pari gave the girl a warning.

Din turned to Pari. “She can’t hurt it.”

“I know she can’t hurt it, but she knows to  _ ask _ —” Pari articulated, looking back at Sash, “—before touching something that doesn’t belong to her.” There was a stern edge to her voice as she finished her point. She paused for effect, but then her expression softened as she gave the girl a wink.

Sash flashed her mom a smile, then turned to face him, “May I please look at your armor?”

He smirked at her from behind the visor. “Sure.”

The girl’s fingers grazed over the cool of the iron. “This is beskar?”

Din wasn’t surprised she knew that. With high exposure to Mandalorians and their culture by her extended family, it made sense. That didn’t mean he wasn’t impressed as he replied, “It is.”

“I know about beskar and its history and stuff.”

The  _ and stuff _ amused him. “Because of your  _ bavodu'e _ ?”

Her finger traced around the Iron Heart at the center of his chest plate. “A little, but mostly from my dad.”

That took him by surprise. “Your father was a Mandalorian?”

Sash shook her head. “No, he couldn’t join.”

Din was curious but didn’t pry. He wouldn’t have to because a moment later, Sash looked at her mom, and Pari told him, “Junn wanted to join alongside his brother in the fighting corps, but he couldn’t. He had epilepsy. Nothing major—small seizures here and there, but it was enough to keep him off the battlefields.”

Okay, that made sense, but the fighting corps wasn’t the only calling within the Mandalorian Way of life. Din found it hard to believe that Sash’s father would be turned away by the creed. “I’ve never known anyone to be denied the option to join the creed. Pre-existing medical condition or not, the Mandalorians where I’m from, they take in anyone who wishes to convert; anyone that would vow to uphold and honor the Way.”

“Don’t get me wrong.” Pari clarified, “They didn’t turn him down or anything. He just decided not to convert because he knew if there was ever a crisis, it would be an all-hands-on-deck situation, and he didn’t want to take the chance that his condition might flare up at the wrong time. He didn’t want to risk being a distraction if…”

She trailed off, and Din raised a hand. “I understand.”

Din thought about the sacrifice that the decision must have cost her husband. If the tables were turned, and he had decided there was something about himself that he deemed unworthy of wearing the helm, it would have been a catastrophic disappointment for him.

Since the day he’d been rescued from the droids that brought war to his home, he’d never wanted to do anything else with his life than devote it to the Way of the Mandalorian; to be a part of the same familial group of soldiers that had flown him into the clouds and away from the screams, the explosions, and the dead.

Din turned back to Sash. “That was a great sacrifice for your father to make that decision.”

Touching her finger to the center of the Iron Heart, Sash nodded, “I know.” Then, she turned and looked at Pari. “Can I show him?”

Pari gave her a half shrug, “That’s up to you, babe. It’s yours.”

Sash seemed to think about that for a moment, and then asked Din, “Can I show you something?”

“Sure.”

Switching back to Pari, she asked, “Where is it?”

“In my dresser.”

Din watched her leave the living room and run down the short hallway. When she came back, she was holding a white box slightly larger than the size of his palm. “This used to be my dad’s.” She handed it to him, saying, “You can open it.”

He did, and what he found inside, stunned him.

It was a book—an actual leather-bound book with paper pages—and he was holding it in his hands. Where he was from, books were beyond rare. The paper itself made the item invaluable.

Din didn’t think he’d ever held an actual book before, except, perhaps when he was a boy. His father had been a scholar, and it’s possible that he might remember seeing something similar in his office, but he’d been so young when he had lost his family, he didn’t trust the memory in its entirety.

Holding the book, Din was taken aback when the girl looked at him, asking, “Will I hurt you if I sit next to you?”

Din shook his head, “No."

Still, Sash moved with care as she sat beside him on the couch. Pressing her back against the edge of the pillows, he could feel her lean against the outside of his arm as she looked over his shoulder. Turning to him, her face was inches from his helm as she told him the same thing for a second time. “You can open it.” 

Looking down at the brown leather binding, Din found it worn soft from the manipulation that came from being looked through often. Written by her late husband, it was obvious this was as sacred to their small family as his armor was to him.

He glanced at Pari, who was watching the pair of them. Raking her fingers through Riley’s black and white fur, she gazed at him with soft eyes and then tilted her head as if to ask him what he was going to do.

Din peeled back the front cover.

Between the leather bindings of the book, written in fine ink, were sketches, details, and definitions that revolved around all things Mandalorian.

The first page hosted a drawing of a planet with the word  _ Mandalore _ scripted in neat penmanship. Just beneath and to the side was written,

Manda'yaim  _ (MAN-dah-YAI-eem) _

A little further into the book, he found more sketches in the form of Mandalorian soldiers displayed in different classes of armor. Sash pointed to a page that portrayed a full suit of armor with the word beskar beside it. Like before, beneath the word, in parentheses, was written  _ BESK-gar. _

Her father had used pictures to teach Sash Mando’a.

“See?” she asked. “It looks just like your armor.”

“Yes, it does,” Din replied. Angling the book, he took a closer look at the drawing. The details were impressive. Almost 3-dimensional as they highlighted the depth and shape of his armor plates.

Moving forward, Din found a list of customs, holy days, traditions, and over one hundred common words and phrases written in Mando’a. Like with the planet and the armor, each one was translated from Basic with the phonetic description beside it.

Beyond that, at the very end of the book, written with the same careful hand was scribed  _ The Resol'nare _ , or, translated into Basic, the Six Actions, the tenets that were the core foundation of what it meant to be a Mandalorian. They were exactly the same in this dimension as they were in his.

_ Ba'jur bal beskar'gam—Education and armor, _

_ Ara’nov, alit—Self-defense, our tribe, _

_ Mando'a bal Mand'alor—Our language and our leader _

_ An vencuyan mhi—all help us survive.* _

The entire book was a remarkable dedication to his creed by a man devoted to it, even though he had deemed himself unable to wear the helm. The significance of it impacted Din hard, pulling at his heart and making his throat much too tight to trust himself with words.

Din cleared his throat as he put the book in its box and replaced the lid. Then, shifting himself to face her more directly, he ignored the pain that spiked from the movement, and handed it back, saying, “The work your father devoted to the creation of this book far outweighs the value of the paper it’s written on.” 

She went to take it from him, and he laid a gloved hand over hers. “Guard it fiercely, Sash.”

~~

*information taken directly from [ https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Resol%27nare_rhyme](https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Resol%27nare_rhyme)

  
  



	8. The Mandalorian Meets a Mandalorian

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a/n: In this chapter, I am totally making up the behavior of supernovas and Star Wars canon as I go. Also, I still get confused between Separatists, The Empire, Imps, and such. I’m trying to do research, but if I get something wrong, please forgive me. 
> 
> Warnings: Talk of executions, needles, and injections

Shortly after the girls had eaten their supper, Pari stood at the stove putting together a tray for Din. Ladling the meaty stew into a bowl, she spoke to Sash. “I have to go out and do some cleaning up from my last client. Go ahead and put your dishes in the sink and get ready; hat, gloves, and coat.”

“Okay,” Sash replied as she stood from the table.

Pari was silently glad that her daughter hadn’t asked to stay in the house. She didn’t want to have to tell her no within earshot of their guest. It’s not that she didn’t trust Din to leave her daughter alone with him, especially in his condition. It was that she didn’t _know_ him well enough yet.

As she’d told her mother, she didn’t feel the need to worry about having him in the house. She was a good judge of character, and the honor he held for his creed was enough to make her feel at ease allowing him around Sash.

It was just the mother in her that felt the need to protect her daughter, and sometimes that meant to keep her within eyesight.

Tray in hand, Pari was halfway into the living room when she looked toward the back door. Riley was prancing, waiting for Sash to open it for him. Taking a step back toward the kitchen, she called out, “Hey. I said: hat and gloves.”

“Aw, mom…”

“It’s thirteen degrees out there, Sash.” Nailing her with a look, she reiterated, “Hat. And gloves.”

Sash gave her one of her drama-queen sighs as she swiped the necessary items off the bench by the door. Those sighs were happening more and more often. It reminded Pari how dangerously close her daughter was to becoming a preteen.

Turning, Pari entered the living room. Then, as an afterthought, quickly called after her daughter. “Hey, don’t slam the—”

The windows rattled from the force of her petite little girl slamming the back door.

Pari closed her eyes in annoyance.

Holding in a dramatic sigh of her own, she set the tray down on the ottoman and shot the Mandalorian a look. “I hope you don’t have a headache.”

“It’s fine,” was his reply. He dared to sound humored.

Rubbing her forehead, Pari told him, “We’ll be out there for a while. I haven’t had a chance to clean up at all today, and it’s kind of a stye out there. You can take your time to eat. Also, Rherr should be here in a little over an hour. I don’t know if he’ll have time to stay, but if he does, would you like to meet with him?”

Helmet angling up at her from the tray, Din’s visor met her eyes. “Okay.”

Nodding, she threw her head toward the kitchen, “We’ll come in by way of the backdoor. Our entrance will probably resemble a small explosion. You’ll have time to throw on the helmet if you need to.”

“Now,” Pari took a breath and pointed at a container of spice on the tray. “I don’t know how it is where you’re from, but the Mandalorians around here like their stuff _hot_. Rherr brings that from the base and adds it to pretty much everything I make. I suggest going easy with it at first; one dash of that stuff will clear out your sinuses. I figured I’d throw it on the tray just in case you’re as crazy as he is.” The Mandalorian reached for the jar and was looking at the ingredients as she asked, “Are you due for another dose of meds soon?”

“In a little under an hour.”

“If you can, you might want to hold off until Rherr brings the medicine from the base. It’s pretty good stuff. It’ll be worth a slight delay.”

~~

A little later in the barn, Sash came up to Pari, holding a partially filled trash bag. “I think that’s all of it. Do you want me to go throw it in the bin outside?”

Sorting through the equipment in a drawer, Pari stopped to look in the bag, “That would be helpful, Sash, thank you. Make sure you tie it well first.”

“Okay,” Sash answered with a singsong tone. Pari knew she had picked that up from her mother.

Closing the door to her exam room, she went over to check on her neighbor’s horse.

“Hey, Stomper,” she greeted as she entered the stall. Walking around him, she bent over and pulled at his back hoof. He picked it up for her, and she looked at the collateral cartilage where he was getting over a serious infection. He was responding well to the treatments, and she hoped to have him in the corral for some light exercise by the end of the week.

“Good boy, Stomper,” Pari told him, releasing his hoof. She walked up to offer him a carrot. Following the scent, he turned to face her and drew the vegetable into his mouth. Pari stroked her hand down his long face. He nodded against her hand a few times, and she laughed, “You’re a goofy boy, aren’t you?”

She gave his side a few hearty pats as she walked past and then left the pen. Turning to latch the stall door, she heard a sharp snapping sound. The harness on the beam beside her flew off the nail and Pari spun with a startled gasp.

Her gaze narrowed.

Crouching on the floor, wearing a shit-eating grin along with his battle-worn white armor edged with orange, her brother had Sash nestled against his chest as they laughed. Holding onto his vambrace, her daughter was winding in his whipcord.

“Damn it, Rherr!” Pari snapped. “I told you to cut that shit out!”

Laughing still, he pushed back his shaggy ginger-blonde hair, telling Sash, “Ignore your mother’s language.”

Releasing the harness from the end of his whipcord, Rherr stood and handed it to Pari. She snatched it from his hand, and he said, “Her aim is improving.”

“Improving?” She hung the piece of horse tack back on the nail, "She got the damn bridle, didn’t she?”

“She was aiming for you," clarified Rherr. 

Pari huffed, “Of course, she was." 

Rherr reached out and pulled her in for a hug. She stood there, smooshed against his chest plate, feeling bothered. She could only keep it going for a moment though before she gave in and wrapped her arms around his back.

Squeezing her, he asked, “Forgive me yet?”

“I’m getting there,” Pari mumbled against his armor.

“I’ll take what I can get.” Pulling away enough that he could look at her, he said, “Tell me about this Mandalorian from far away that you have anchored to your couch.”

She looked up at him, “There isn’t much else to say that I didn’t last night. He’s been polite and kind. He’s good with Sash.”

Rherr grunted in approval. He pulled a medicine pack from a pouch on his belt and handed it to her, “And his injuries, how are they?”

“It’s barely been 24 hours since he arrived. So, no change. At least he’ll be able to get some better rest with these,” She held up the pack. “Thank you, Rherr.”

“For my favorite sister—” he leaned down and kissed her forehead, “—anything.”

She smirked. Smacking his arm, she stepped back. “Makes it easy for you, considering I’m your _only_ sister.”

Rherr grinned. “Semantics, Pari.”

Shaking her head at him, she chuckled.

“Hey, it’s freezing out here, how about you take me inside and introduce me to this displaced warrior.”

“Sure. But, hey,” she touched his arm. “Would you put your helmet on before you go inside?”

“Why?” Rherr glanced out into the yard where Sash was running in circles with Riley.

Pari followed his stare. Her daughter had a hold of the dog’s tail. Sticking it in his face, she was baiting him to chase after it.

Standing beside him, she explained, “Where he’s from, it’s so strange, Rherr.” Riley started spinning in a tight circle with his tail between his jaws. “There is only one Way. The _old_ Way.”

“Interesting,” he remarked. Thinking about that for a moment, he turned to face her, “It’s not as strange as you would think. There are small factions of the creed that still hold fast to those old teachings.”

“I know, I just thought it would help him feel less out of place while he met with you. If that’s the only Way he knows, imagine how wrong it would feel to see you in your armor without your helmet while you guys sat and talked.”

Looking up at him, her brows drew together, “You know?”

“Yeah, I understand, and you’re right. It’s a good call.” He gave her a wistful look, “Guess that means no supper for me while I’m here.”

Stepping up to him, she patted his chest armor. “Don’t pout. I’ll fix you something to go. Okay?”

“That works.”

She took his arm, “One last thing. Try to keep the conversation low key. Okay? We had a visitor here today, a professor that is working out a way to get him home. He was here for a few hours, and while he was, the Mandalorian in there worked hard to hide how badly he was injured.”

Her mouth turned down in displeasure, adding, “He was _persuasive._ ”

Rherr hummed in acknowledgment, “This guy has a strong sense of honor, then.”

“Yes, yes,” Pari grumbled with barely restrained frustration. “He’s down with the whole Macho Mando bit.”

Rherr’s hands landed heavily over her shoulders. Looking at her, his playful, easy-going nature became serious. “It’s for the strength of the Tribe, and for the strength of the collective Mandalorian soul that we hide our vulnerabilities from outsiders.”

Sighing, she admitted, “I know.” He held her gaze, and, raising her hands, she consented, _“I know, I know._ I don’t mean any disrespect. You know I don’t. It’s just... My profession revolves around nursing living creatures back to health. It’s hard to watch you guys push through and ignore injuries and sickness. It goes against my nature.”

Grabbing her arm, he pulled her in for another hug, “I know, _vod.”_

After a moment, he added, “You know, it takes a strict dedication to the creed and strong self-discipline to put the Way of our religion ahead of our own physical limitations.”

Letting her pull away, Rherr’s chest puffed out the slightest, “I don’t even consider the alternative; otherwise, my strength might fail me when I need it the most.”

Turning off the lights in the barn, Pari shooed him out into the glow of the outdoor security light. She pulled the heavy sliding door closed and fixed him with a wry grin, “Careful, Rherr, your hubris is showing again.”

“A healthy hubris carries a healthy spirit, _vod'ika.”_

Walking towards the house, she looked at him, “Do you guys have a one-liner comeback for every argument?”

Moving beside her, he thought about it, then decided, “Pretty much.”

She laughed, “Look. Just try to keep the conversation relaxed. That’s all I’m asking.”

“I can do that.” Rherr donned his helm and then called for Sash and Riley.

~~

Entering in the back, Riley squeezed between Pari and Sash, leaving Rherr to close the door after them.

Shedding her coat, Sash laughed as Riley barked, turning to lean his heavy body against her and unintentionally shoving down against the bench. "Riley, quit it!" 

“Try to keep it down, Sash.” Pari asked, eyeing the entryway to the living room. “Low voices tonight, okay?” Kicking off her boots, Pari looked over at Rherr.

He was standing in front of the stove, gazing longingly into the pot of stew.

Walking past, she smacked his side. “C’mon, and I’ll send you back to the Base with half the pot.”

She was walking into the dim light of the living room when his voice wafted after her from the stove, “Promise?”

Pari smiled to herself as she walked over to Din and laid a hand on his arm. “Hey. You awake?”

He took a quick inhale, and then, “Yes.” There was a gruffness in his voice that told her he hadn’t been.

Pari patted his arm as Rherr’s footsteps finally started their way. If she knew her brother—which she did—she was positive he had risked scalding his mouth in favor of tipping back his helmet to shove in a spoonful of the stew.

Picking up Din’s dinner tray, she turned to introduce them but then Rherr walked into the room, and Din started struggling to push his body upright.

Pari went to stop him, but Rherr was already stepping past her, saying, “No, _verd._ ” His hand landed on Din’s shoulder, stilling his efforts. “We are equals here. Lie back. Rest. Heal.”

The ‘equals’ part stood out to Pari, and she realized this time Din’s hadn’t been trying to mask his injuries. This time he had been trying to stand up out of respect.

Pari watched him lie back again. His hand moved to his side, and she asked, “You all right?”

He shifted a little, “Yes.”

She eyed him for a second longer and then glanced at Rherr who was busy relocating the armchair by the fireplace. He set it down closer to where Din lay, and the two made their introductions.

Rherr plopped down into the chair. He was scrubbing Riley behind the ears with his gloved hands as Pari called to her daughter, “C’mon, Sash.”

Looking over from where she stood beside Rherr, Sash plastered her with a frown. “I want to see _ba'vodu_. Why do I have to go?”

“Because you have school tomorrow and it’s already way past your bedtime.” Still holding the tray, Pari gestured it toward the refresher off the dining room. “No arguments; get your shower started.”

Sash stalled, and Rherr gave the girl’s bottom a playful swat. “Don’t give your mom a hard time.”

“Yes, sir,” Sash mumbled as she pushed off her uncle and left the room to follow orders.

Twenty minutes later, teeth brushed, and wearing her favorite fuzzy pajamas, Sash wandered back into the living room. Pari leaned against the entryway waiting for her to say goodnight to her uncle.

Rherr was busy talking as Sash walked up to him. He was telling Din something about the mission he’d been on, and Pari watched the natural motion of his arm as it drew the girl into his side without breaking the stride of his conversation. Climbing onto his leg, Sash curled against him while she waited for him to finish.

After a moment, he turned to her, and she wrapped her arms around his neck, saying, “Goodnight, _ba'vodu_.”

Drawing her into a big hug, Rherr squeezed her until she squeaked. He set her feet back on the floor and pressed his helmet to her forehead, “Sweet dreams, _ner cyar'ika vodu’ad.”_

After he released her, Sash didn’t skip a beat by taking four quick steps to lean down and wrap a hug around Din’s neck and shared her good night wishes with him as well.

It was apparent by the way the Mandalorian’s body tensed that Sash’s run-by-hugging had come as a shock. Yet, like a true Mandalorian warrior, he recovered quickly, and Pari hid a smile behind her hand as his gloved hand came to rest over the child’s back.

Sash looked at him as she stood back up, “Good night, Din.”

His hand slid from her back to her arm, and he gave it a gentle squeeze. “Sleep well, Sash.”

Her daughter walked out of the room and Pari tugged the girl against herself as they went into her bedroom. Tucking Sash into bed, she planted a kiss on her forehead, “Good night, love. Have sweet dreams and sleep fast. The morning will be here before you know it.”

“Night, mom,” Sash smiled at her, and Pari stroked a hand over her head. Getting up, she flicked off the light and closed the door. 

Swinging by the kitchen, Pari warmed up her coffee from earlier and pulled her mug from the microwave. Walking it into the living room, she took a seat on the vacant end of her large L-shaped couch. She noticed the visor to Rherr’s helmet zero in on her cup. Looking at him, she took a drink.

“Is that caf?” The man was a caffeine addict.

She hummed with acknowledgment around the mug’s warm ceramic lip. Knowing he wanted some, but wouldn’t with the helmet, she taunted him by asking, “Want a cup?”

“At this hour?” He scoffed like it was a ridiculous question, “No, thank you. I’d rather sleep tonight.” His tone of dismissal was just a cover for his annoyance. Retaliation for his little stunt in the barn satisfied, Pari shrugged and smiled.

The conversation picked back up, and over the next hour, the topic swung around from discussing wormholes and supernovas to the evolution in Mandalorian customs and beliefs between the two dimensions.

Rherr explained about their galaxy, and how even there, for a while after the Empire had fallen, a lot of tribes had kept strict beliefs almost identical to Din’s tribe.

Leaning back in his seat, Rherr spoke through a long stretch, “But then, The New Republic made a big statement by rounding up officers that had served in the Empire and hung them for war crimes. There were over one hundred executions. Shortly after that, when it was clear that the Empire was dead, the tribes slowly began to realize they didn’t need to keep up with the extreme standards for the sake of survival.”

“How long ago was that?” asked Din.

Rherr blew out a breath and looked over at Pari. “That was what… fifty-three years ago by now?”

Pari nodded, “Fifty-three; fifty-four years, yeah.”

“Wait.” Din pushed himself up a little higher against the pillows. They both looked at him as he asked, “Are you telling me that over here, the Empire has been consistently dispersed for over fifty years?”

“Yes,” answered Pari.

“Completely dead. No random stormtroopers? No generals in hiding? just…”

“Gone; dead,” she finished for him. “Yes.”

Rherr nodded in agreement, adding, “The New Republic had a rocky start for the first twenty years, but it leveled out as they got their footing and then they swept up the lingering remnants of the Empire. I’m sure they didn’t manage to round up every single individual involved, but they did enough damage, that any Imps who might have remained wouldn’t admit their association with the Empire to their own mother.”

Din was quiet, and Pari asked, “What are you thinking?”

“I…” He cut off and was quiet for another moment before shaking his head, “Things aren’t like that at all back in my dimension. According to your timeline, it’s like my galaxy is about fifty years behind in events. And, the Empire, yeah, it’s supposed to be done with, but it’s not. Not even close, and—” he stopped with a sigh, and his fist clenched. It was clear he was debating with himself over sharing something else with them.

Pari and Rherr were quiet, giving him time to think. Finally, he exhaled and looked at Rherr. “I have a foundling. He’s been under my care for a little more than a year.” Rherr nodded, and Din looked at them both as he continued. “He is being actively hunted by a Moff of the Empire. We’ve been on the run ever since I found him.”

 _“Hunted?”_ Pari seethed.

The rest of her rant died on her lips as Rherr lifted a gentle palm in her direction. “Why. What do they want him for?” Her brother’s tone had dipped to take on a steely edge. Pari knew it was a reflection of his anger. It wasn’t hard to figure out why. What kind of piece of shit hunted a child?

Din shook his head, “It’s complicated, I’m not exactly certain. When I found him, they were going to experiment on him. I don’t know why. I just grabbed him and got him out of there.”

Pari’s jaw fell open; she hissed, “They were going to experiment on a baby?”

“Yes,” He looked at her for a beat, and then turned back to Rherr. “He’s not human, and they want to extract something from him—some gene—I don’t know the specifics.”

“So, if they’re hunting you guys… “ Rherr questioned, “I mean, the galaxy is a big place, Din. Can’t you find some planet way the hell out there and lay low?”

“They’re tracking him with fobs; Mercs by hire. The amount they’re willing to shell out for the reward is obscene. No hunter is going to turn that down. They just keep coming.”

Rherr cursed.

“We planet hop as much as we can but stay somewhere for more than a few days, and suddenly a merc or two show up. Some want to take him in alive. Most aren’t that picky.”

“I can’t imagine…” Pari shook her head, “Maker, Din. The cost of fuel alone… how do you make ends meet?”

“I hunt bounties for the Guild when I can.”

“With a baby, _how?”_

“No. I have friends I trust that I can leave him with. The ones that he’s with now. They protect him and keep him safe for a week or two while I go and collect on as many bounties as I can. It’s not a perfect system, but until I can find something different, it’s all I can do.”

Rherr shook his head, “That sounds like a grueling way to live.”

Din’s voice modulator huffed out a bitter chuckle. “That, _verd..._ that’s putting it lightly.”

The room fell into a heavy silence, and for a short while, the only sound came from Riley snoring by the fire. Then, Pari got an idea. It was crazy. She _knew_ it was crazy, but all she had to do was put herself in Din’s place to get the courage to share it with the two Mandalorians in her living room.

Unfolding her legs, Pari sat forward and set her cup down on the ottoman. Clasping her hands together, she drew in a steady breath. Looking between the two of them, she said, “I might have an idea. It’s pretty crazy,” she looked at Rherr, “No, poking fun.”

He hands raised in surrender.

“And you,” she pointed at Din, “just listen and think about it a bit before you shoot it down.”

“All right.”

Looking down the hall that led to Sash’s room, Pari collected her thoughts, “Okay. So, Professor Clayton is plotting a course for you to get back to your dimension. He said he should have it done in a couple of weeks. Earlier today, when I was talking with him over comms, he had commented that the stars that went supernova, they would continue to burn for some time. He said as they still burned, you would have a good shot at getting back to your own galaxy.”

Pausing, Pari warned them, “Okay, here comes the crazy part: What if we asked the professor to plot coordinates for you to come back, with your son.”

Both men stared at her. Looking between them, she elaborated. “I mean, if he gets the coordinates plotted for you to go home, in theory, wouldn’t the formula to come back just be a reverse of the original set?”

She waved that thought away. “No. Obviously, it’s much more complicated than I’m making it seem. I know absolutely zero about star mapping. However, if the key to sending you back home revolves around the stars burning, I would think it would be possible for you to go back, get your foundling, and then return here. Where there are no Imps, where the Empire was extinguished over half a century ago, and where you won’t have to look over your shoulder every five damn seconds.”

Another heavy silence settled among their small group. Riley continued snoring.

Rherr looked over at Din. “My tribe would welcome you and your foundling—if you wanted to join.”

Tucking her feet beneath her, Pari asked Din, “What are your thoughts?”

“I… I’m not sure. That’s…” he trailed off, and she got the impression there was something else. Something else he was holding back. If he was, Pari knew it must be something big. She waited, but he just ended up saying, “It’s tempting.”

Leaning forward in his seat, Rherr pointed out the obvious. “You wouldn’t be on the run anymore, your founding would be safe, and you would be welcomed into a tribe that is hundreds strong. What is there to think about?”

Pari leveled him with a look, “Don’t push him, Rherr.”

He visor swung to her. “I’m not pushing. I’m asking a legitimate question.”

“With all the style of a drunken Tauntaun.”

“What does that even _mean?”_

“It’s a generous offer,” Din’s words cut into their bickering. “and I’m not turning you down. I just have some important details to consider.”

“Fair enough, _verd,”_ Rherr yielded. “The offer is there if you choose to make good on it.”

“I appreciate it. Thank you.”

Bowing his head, Rherr pushed to his feet, “I hate to cut this short, but I need to get going.”

Moving her armchair back to its original place, Rherr stepped up beside her. “I’m assigned to the base for the rest of the month. Tell Sash I’ll swing by next week.”

“Okay.”

His helm touched down to her forehead, and he whispered, “ _…that wasn’t very nice, vod'ika”_ He was talking about the coffee.

Grinning, she tapped the side of his helm, “Payback for the whipcord, _ori'vod.”_

Rherr grunted in defeat and stood up. Turning, he extended a hand to the Mandalorian on her couch. His hand was gripped, and he returned the gesture. “It was good meeting you, Din.”

“You also.”

Rherr’s grip remained as his helm bowed toward Din. “Rest. Heal, and let me know what you decide.”

“I will.”

Rherr gave him a nod and then released his hand.

Pari touched Din’s leg as she got up, “I’m going to walk him out. I’ll be right back.”

~~

Taking the container of stew she handed him, Rherr looked up at the dark sky, “It’s supposed to snow tonight.”

Pari took a deep breath. “It’s in the air. You can smell it.”

He nodded. “You have enough wood split?”

She smiled at him, “Yes. Plenty.”

Rherr nodded again and then pulled her in for a hug. The bottom of his helmet rested atop her head, and he said, “I can’t imagine being on the run like that—fighting off mercs, protecting his kid… running nonstop for over a year?” He scoffed, but the tone of it leaned more toward the sound of a growl.

Pari stepped back to look at him, “I know.”

“Why do you think he didn’t jump at the opportunity to put it all behind him?”

She shook her head. “There’s still something else.”

“What?”

“I’m not sure. Din wanted to tell us something else, I could tell, but he’s holding back. Whatever it is, it’s big. I got the feeling he is protecting the baby with his silence.”

Rherr sighed.

Pulling her coat around her, she hunched in on herself.

For a moment, they just stood there listening to the naked trees groaning in the season’s cold, hollow breeze. Finally, Pari broke their short silence by saying what she knew Rherr was thinking. “It’s hard when you want to help but can’t do a damn thing about it.”

He grunted, and she said, “We’ve got a couple of weeks. It’s not much time, but I’ll talk to Din about the professor plotting return coordinates. It’ll be good to have them just in case he decides to act on it.”

“Yeah,” Rherr sighed. “Okay. I’ll talk to my commander.”

“Rherr, no.”

“I don’t have to give specifics or names or anything. I’m just going to ask about the Tribe taking in a Mandalorian from a different world that’s on the run trying to protect his kid.”

“They’re going to want to know why.”

“Yeah. They will.” He shrugged, “Can’t exactly hand out information that I don’t have. Right? At least this way I can feel it out and see what they say about the process of taking them in. So, if he does come back and wants to join, we’ll already have a leg up on it.”

A shiver rolled through her, and the Mandalorian in white and orange armor turned her by the shoulders. She got a shove toward the door, “Go inside, Pari. Get warm. I’ll be in touch.”

~~

Pari closed the door behind her and locked it. Grabbing the pain medicine off the kitchen counter, she brought it with her back into the living room and passed it to Din. “Does this look familiar?”

He took the package. “Yes.”

Sitting beside him on the edge of the couch, “It’s in Mando’a, and I’m not fluent in it. I’m not sure about the dosage.”

Turning the package over, Din read the instructions commenting, “It’s usually one to two every six hours.”

She watched him open it and noticed the doses came in the form of individual mini field syringes. The inside of the top flap had a pouch filled with single-use alcohol swabs. Pari looked at him as he pulled out one of the doses and a swab. “You’ve done this before?”

“It’s been a while, but yes.”

Pulling up his shirt enough to expose a bit of his abdomen, Din tore open one of the alcohol wipes and rubbed it across his skin. Uncapping a syringe, Pari passed it over, watching as he pinched a section of his side before inserting the small needle. The medication auto-injected, and he waited a few seconds before removing it.

“Here,” Pari reached for the syringe, saying, “I’ll recap it and take it out to the sharps container in my exam room tomorrow.”

“Thanks,” he breathed and relaxed back against the pillows.

“You said one to two every six hours. Do you need a second one?”

Din shook his head, “I don’t think so. Don’t want to be completely out of it.”

She gave him a smirk, “That means you probably could use it. Right?”

His helmet angled toward her. “No, I’m okay. These help more than the pills you had. Fewer side effects.” Looking at the med-pack on the ottoman, he asked, “You want to put those up somewhere?”

Din was thinking of Sash. The consideration he had for her daughter made her smile. “If I do, it’ll be inconvenient if you need it and have to get up to get it. You can leave it there. Sash knows to stay out of the medicines, but I’ll talk to her about it tomorrow. Besides,” She set the capped syringe by the med-pack, “just the fact that they’re needles will keep her away.”

“Solid point.”

Pari smiled at him, then turned to look at the fire. It was getting low as it reduced itself down to just a lump of glowing coals. The last piece of wood for the night sat alone on the rack. At that point, it was more charcoal than log. Every so often, a flicker would flare up from the pile of crackling, glowing coals.

Din’s hand landed on her arm. She turned to face him, and he told her, “You should get some rest.”

“I will.” She smirked and then tilted her head as she looked at him. When she didn’t say anything, his head tipped a little, and she said, “I was just thinking, well, I was wondering…”

He seemed patient as she thought about how to say what was on her mind. Finally, with an expression that felt weighed, she asked, “Do you feel safe here?” His helmet tilted just a bit more, and she explained, “Now that you know there aren’t any Imps here, no Empire, and no one on your tail…”

Pari looked at his hand, still resting over her arm. She took it into her own. Looking into his visor, he allowed her to manipulate it, turning it palm up. Pari grazed her thumb over the snap at his wrist, “Do you feel safe here, with me, and in my house?”

He didn’t take long to think about it before answering. “Mostly; yes.”

Taking a chance, Pari flicked back the snap on his glove. She paused, giving him the option of stopping her. When he didn’t, she started tugging on the tips, “If you feel safe with me, you could allow yourself to get a little bit more comfortable while you’re here.”

Slipping the leather glove off his hand, she placed it on the ottoman beside the med-pack. She reached for his other hand. He didn’t stop her when she took it into her own and, just like his other, turned it palm up. Her movements were gentle but purposeful as she freed the snap on that one and pulled it from his hand. She released it, and Din brought it down to rest over his stomach.

Her hand followed after, fingers lingering over top of his, and she asked, “How do you feel about the idea of returning with your foundling?”

His thumb twitched with a small, fractured movement as it brushed against the side of her finger. “Torn.”

“Do you have a family you would be leaving behind?”

“A good friend.”

“Would your friend be willing to come back with you?”

“She might.”

“And, leaving your tribe behind? How would you feel about that?”

“They… ” He cut off with a short exhale.

His silence weighed on her heart, and she intertwined her fingers with his. “Something happened,” she guessed. “Something terrible.” Din’s fingers closed around hers, trapping them in his grip, but he didn’t say anything. He didn’t tell her she was wrong, either.

They sat like that for a little while before she said, “If even a small part of you is considering the option of returning, I suggest we let the professor know as soon as possible. Just in case it’s not as simple as reversing coordinates.” Squeezing his hand, she released it and got up.

His visor followed her movements as she went to the end of the couch. Pari pushed back the blanket. She looked at him as she went for the catches on his left shin guard. Touching it, she stopped. He didn’t stop her, and she released it with a flick of her thumb, moved lower, and released the other one before she pulled it off his leg. She set it on the ottoman with his gloves.

So far, his boots had been a back and forth battle between them for one reason or another. Like with his gloves, Pari’s hand settled over the buckle at the top. She looked at him, giving him time to tell her to stop.

He seemed to tense a little, but he didn’t say anything, and he didn’t pull his leg away.

“It’s okay to let your guard down just a little bit while you’re here,” Pari told him. “It’s good to be vigilant, but you don’t have to remain on high alert all of the time. Not here.” He watched her as she started to ease the leather strap out of the buckle, and she said, “From what you told us tonight, I can imagine it would be hard for you to allow yourself to stand down, even if it’s just a little bit.”

She got the laces loosened and looked at him, “But, I really hope you can trust me when I say, there is nothing here that you need to protect yourself from. Nothing is looking for you,” Pari tugged on the heel of his boot, and he pulled his leg back, helping her to slip it off his foot. She set it on the floor and guided his foot down to her lap. “And is nothing coming for you.”

Watching him, she held his foot and pressed her thumb against the dark grey material of his sock with a firm stroke.

He cocked his head at what she was doing.

Her thumb stroked along the arch of his foot again, and she asked, “Do you want me to stop?”

A beat passed, and then, “No.”

His voice had a husky edge to it, and Pari wasn’t sure if it was because the sensation was relaxing him toward sleep, or if it was because he was dealing with the emotions that come in like a flood when it’s been so long since you’ve had any type of intimate contact. Being on the run with his kid, she guessed it had easily been a year since he might have been able to have any sort of relationship, maybe longer.

For her, it had been three.

She still thought about Junn every day; missed him every damn day, but it was strange the way the heart heals after it’s been shattered.

It had taken a while, but eventually, she’d been able to move forward with her life after her husband had been ripped away from her and Sash. Even so, even after healing and moving forward, forging a new life for them, she still kept her husband’s memory safe in the part of her heart covered by the scar tissue of his death. That section of her heart would always be set aside for him.

The rest of her heart thundered in her chest at the soft intimacy her small actions were causing. Pulling off part of the Mandalorian’s gear, soothing him and helping him to feel more at ease, it all soothed her in return. It didn’t feel wrong, and all those repressed, neglected emotions came flooding in over her. It was almost overwhelming.

Almost.

Lifting his foot off her leg, she moved closer to where his other leg was supported on a pillow.

Knowing how Mandalorians valued their weapons, she asked, “All right if I pull out your vibroblade?”

“Yes.”

Pulling out the knife from the side of his boot, she set it next to his other items and then removed the guard. She looked at the silver rounds strapped to it. “What kind of ammunition is this?”

“Pulse rounds.”

“You have a phase-pulse rifle.” Everything stopped, and she stared at him. “I’m officially jealous.”

She started to release the buckle on his boot, and he asked, “Have you fired one before?”

Pari looked up, “A long time ago, when I was younger than Sash.” She loosened his laces, “My uncle had one—or has. I’m not sure if he still does. They live off-world, and it’s been a very long time since I’ve seen him and my aunt.” Taking his boot by the back of the heel, she tugged down on it. Din pulled back with his leg like before but then stopped with a hiss of discomfort.

Pari gripped his calf, stopping his movement. Raising up, she got a knee under herself and scooted in closer. Holding his leg, she gripped the back of the heel and coaxed the boot off his foot, setting it on the floor beside its mate. Sitting back on her heel, Pari released his leg, letting its natural descent lower down across her lap.

The warmth of his leg resting over her thighs chased away the lingering night time chill from standing outside with Rherr. The heaviness of it, a comfort as it grounded her, filling her with a level of closeness that she hadn’t experienced in a long time.

Leaning her side into the back of the couch, Pari tucked her arm under her head, saying, “You just let me take off your gloves, and boots, and your blade. Do you still feel safe?”

“My blaster is still on my hip.” He gave a nod toward the ottoman, “My blade is still within my reach.”

“Yes, it is.”

He looked at her, “Setting it there wasn’t done by chance.”

“No,” she smiled. “It wasn’t.”

Instead of answering her question, the Mandalorian posed one of his own, “What about you? Do you feel safe with my weapon right there in the open?”

Pari’s expression was a little confused as she worked to free the elastic tie from her hair. It got caught on a tangle, and she grimaced from the pull it caused, “What…? Are you thinking of Sash again?”

“How is she around weapons?”

The hair tie finally released, and she scrubbed a hand through the messy strands, telling him, “Sash is low maintenance, Din. She’s a smart girl. She has grown up around weapons, and between Junn, me, and Rherr, she’s been taught to respect them. You don’t need to worry about her. You could lay your blaster right there with the rest of your stuff, and she wouldn’t touch it.

She quirked an eyebrow. “You never answered my question.”

His leg moved against her lap as he shifted against the cushions. Pari settled her arm over top of it as he said, “I feel safe enough to allow you to remove those items. Although my guard doesn’t ever completely drop.”

“Not even in your ship with it buttoned uptight, out on some remote planet, where scans show it devoid of all life, and your proximity alarms are alive and active?”

An amused huff, “Not even then.”

“I can’t imagine always being on guard to some degree.” His hand brushed over hers as she said,

“To never completely relax. That’s not healthy, Din.”

His hand settled over hers. “You also haven’t lived the life I have. I’ve trained to be a soldier, a warrior since I was almost Sash’s age. I’ve been in battles, ambushed while walking through a crowded market, betrayed and left to die in the dunes on Er´kit, almost eaten by one of my first bounties...” Reaching out toward her, Din brushed a piece of errant hair behind her ear, “When you choose to walk this Way of life, the term _safe_ becomes relative. The meaning of the term becomes entirely different from how a civilian would define it.”

Her brow pinched as she looked at him. “You sound alone most of the time.”

“I am.”

She shook her head, “Bounty hunting is dangerous.”

He looked at her. “It is.”

Pari closed her fingers around his hand, “Hunting over here, Mandalorians are sent out in pairs—minimum. Often it’s a group of four.”

“We...” Din paused. His thumb moved over her fingers, “My Tribe, we didn’t have the numbers to spare for such an extravagance.”

 _“Extravagance?”_ Pari’s jaw fell open. “You make it seem like I’m suggesting you guys use the buddy system to go to the cantina. Din, we’re talking about your _life_ here.”

“I know.” Squeezing her hand, he gave it a little tug. “I know you are. But, with our numbers being so low, it would have been considered... a waste of resources to double up on hunting.” Pari turned to look out into the darkness beyond her windows.

“Now,” Din’s hand tightened around hers a little more, “Now it doesn’t matter. The way things are now, there is absolutely no alternative to consider.”

“I’m sorry.” Shaking her head, she turned back, “I’m sorry you have to live like that.”

The Mandalorian shook his head, “Don’t be. It’s just how things are. I’m used to it. It’s been like this for so long, that anything different would seem...wrong.”

Pillowing her head on her arm, Pari sighed. Closing her eyes as she tried to imagine what life must be like for him. It hurt her to consider how hard it was every day. To be alone with a baby through it all.

Taking a deep breath, she let it out and looked at Din again. “It’s late. You should get some sleep.”

“I must have slept half the day.”

“Your body is trying to heal some pretty serious damage. It needs the rest.”

“Probably, but I’m not the only one who could use some rest.”

Leaning deeper into the cushions, she closed her eyes and smirked, “Probably not.”

“Pari, go to bed.”

She hummed, “Too far.”

“It’s thirty paces behind you.”

“Exactly.”

He sighed, “You can’t sleep draped over the back of the couch all night.”

“Technically, I can.”

“Do you always get literal when you’re overtired?”

She grinned. “Sarcasm is hardwired into me.”

His tone came back flat. “Never would have guessed.”

She cracked her eyes open and looked at him. “Hey. So far, you’ve only seen my nice side.” Her eyes fell closed again.

“How many sides do you have?”

She gave him a sloppy shrug. “A few.”

“Name one.”

“I have a temper.”

“We all do.”

“No,” she looked at him again. “I mean, I have a _temper.”_

“All right, I’ll keep that in mind.”

“I get it from my dad. I’ve only completely lost it twice. I don’t let myself go there anymore.”

“That takes self-discipline.”

Another sloppy shrug. “It’s a work in progress.”

“What’s another side that you have?”

“I’m cynical as hell.”

“Self-discipline, hot temper, and cynical. You still don’t see the warrior in yourself?”

Eyes closed, a nasally spurt of laughter pulled from her.

“You’ve just listed practically all of the prerequisites.”

She laughed, “Stop.”

It was quiet.

“Pari.”

“Hmm?”

“Go to sleep.”

“I’m trying to.”

There was movement, and then his leg lifted off her lap. He breathed out a grunt, and she opened her eyes in time to see him yank out the pillow from under his thigh. Before she could ask him what he was doing, he used the arm on his good side to toss it down at the vacant end of the couch.

Pari understood the unspoken terms of his compromise. It was a fair negotiation. “All right; fine,” she mumbled, slipping out from under his leg. Moving to the other end of the couch, she sank into the pillow.

Closing her eyes, she was already drifting off as she pulled her sweater around herself. Something crash-landed against her side. Looking down, she reached out and found one of the spare blankets she’d stacked on the back of the couch. Grinning, she pulled it over herself and stretched out against the cushions. It had been an exhausting twenty-four hours, and she was overjoyed at the thought of not having any morning appointments the next day.

Sash would be getting up in about five hours, and Pari told herself to shut her mind down and just sleep. Yawning, she nuzzled her face into the pillow, picking up a hint of his scent. It was nice. It made her smile, and as she stretched again if her feet just so happened to get tangled up with Din’s, well, then that was nice also. 

**Translations:**

_ner cyar'ika vodu’ad—my darling niece_

_ba'vodu—uncle/aunt_

_verd—_ soldier

 _vod'ika—_ little sister

 _ori'vod—_ big brother 


	9. A New Problem

* * *

One week after a series of cosmic events had shoved the _Crest_ through a tear in the fabric of space and time, Din found himself watching a movie with Pari and Sash on the large flatscreen in their living room. Lying in his usual spot, Din felt slightly more sore than he did earlier in the day, but the reason behind it made the throbbing in his leg and pain in his side well worth it.

A couple of days ago, Pari had worn him down about using her spare room. Now that he felt comfortable in the knowledge that nothing was hunting him down over here, Din had to admit that it was nice to have a space to eat and sleep that wasn’t central to the main traffic areas in the house. It was even nicer to lock the door, pull off his helmet, and smash his face into the soft pillows instead of wearing it practically 24/7 like he had been doing. 

He was sleeping better, which meant he would be recovering better, also.

This morning, he found himself having enough energy to venture out to the barn with the girls, and of course, Riley, as Pari checked on the animals under her care.

It’s probable that he might have been on his feet for a little longer than was advisable, but it had been worth it. After days of being too hurt to handle much more than a trip to the refresher and maybe one lap around the kitchen, getting up and moving around had felt great as it loosened the coiling stiffness in his body. 

He felt a little wiped out, and his pain level might be slightly elevated, but now there was something else mixed in among the unrelenting pain that came with being considerably injured. Somewhere behind the pain and fatigue was a subtle, almost electrifying thrum that he always felt after sparing with Cara or running practice drills on a day with no bounties to collect. It came from pushing his body a little past its limits, and it felt good.

An explosion on-screen dragged his thoughts back to his present, and Din glanced at the other end of the couch to where Riley’s top half was draped across Pari’s lap. Running her hand over the dog’s head with lazy strokes tempted Riley toward sleep until he slipped far enough away that his legs gave out on him and jolted him awake.

Din had to smirk that, in spite of her strict _no dog on the furniture_ policy, Riley had managed to find a loophole that she allowed.

On the floor in front of her mother, Sash had made herself a little nest constructed of almost every spare pillow and blanket in the house. Keeping her company were about ten different stuffed animals and three dolls. A small red and yellow dragon-looking creature in one hand, doll in the other, whatever imaginary interaction happening between the two toys came to be frozen in time as her attention became glued to the flatscreen and the action scene that it was showing.

At the other end of the L-shaped couch, Din shifted as he tried to find a more comfortable position for his broken ribs. Wrapping an arm across his middle, he held his side and swallowed the grunt that had nearly escaped. He’d been recovering for almost a week, and he was only just noticing the slightest improvement in his pain levels.

Regardless of how well this morning had gone, Din held no illusions over how much healing he still had ahead of himself. Trying to move still stole his breath. Getting himself vertical was just short of excruciating as sitting upright always shifted his ribs, grinding the broken ends and putting pressure on the cracked ones.

Those first couple days, no matter how he tried pushing himself to his feet, he had always ended up hunched over with a hand pressed to his side, feeling almost like he was being run through with a couple of blades that stabbed and twisted between his ribs.

The last time he’d refused help was the end of the second day. He’d dragged himself upright, with his injured leg trembling beneath him, threatening to give out. The pain in his side managed to tear a groan from his throat, and he’d pressed a palm against the arm of the couch. Elbow locked, it was the only thing he could depend on to keep himself from falling back. He’d stayed like that, unsure for how long, but when the pain leveled out to a less-blinding level, he’d been trembling in a cold sweat.

He was lucky that Pari had been in the house at that time as she materialized in front of him, clutching his arms. Supporting him, she had maneuvered him over a step and coaxed him down to sit against the arm of the couch, telling him to just rest for a moment.

He had closed his eyes against the sound of his blood thundering in his ears as Pari stood close enough to hear her breathe, and she had eased him slightly forward. The visor of his helmet had planted against her shoulder as she reached behind him and pulled apart the closure at the back of his cowl. It was pushed down, and then a cold cloth was pressed against the back of his neck. Shortly after, the room stopped rolling like the Great Sea of Artorias, and the fear that he might paint the inside of his helmet with vomit kindly receded.

He might be a fearless warrior, but underneath all his armor and weapons, he was still just a human with human limitations. Once he acknowledged just how badly he was injured and allowed his body to rest, that’s when the real healing would begin—Pari’s words, not his.

She’d been right, though, and he’d known it when she had dropped that golden nugget of insight the night that standing had almost ruined him.

Din adjusted his position on the couch again. The meds Rherr had brought were strong but, even then, they only managed to dull the pain down to a tolerable level. Finally, though, he found a position that didn’t make breathing feel like shoving needles into his side, and Din allowed himself to float somewhere between sleep and awake.

The fuzzy comfort of the medication urged him to relax, and it pulled him just far enough below the surface where he could still hear the movie, he could tune into Pari and her daughter’s voices, but to where the sounds were softer and further away.

He wouldn’t allow the calm to pull him away completely. Just far enough to where it felt like he had only partially detached from consciousness.

One foot in the now and the other on the sleep-plane, Din drifted like that for some time, until he heard a rumbling growl from the dog still draped over Pari’s lap. Listening without coming fully awake, he heard her shush the animal.

Riley was quiet for a little bit, and then he growled again. This time, Din felt movement as the dog jumped down from the couch, barking, and he heard him trot into her bedroom. That side of the house had a good view of the driveway and a little of the road leading up to it. Din knew it was one of Riley’s favorite spots to sit and keep guard.

The cushions on the couch shifted again, and Din opened his eyes.

Pari had scooted up on the couch and was leaning back against the cushions. Neck craning, she tried to look out the windows behind them. Pulling the drape back, she angled to get a better view of the driveway, and then muttered, “Aw, _hell…”_

“What is it?” he asked as she grabbed the remote and paused the movie.

Riley trotted back through the living room, sounding off loudly between a whine and a growl, and Pari told him to hush. Addressing Din, she answered, “Nothing really. Someone I know.” The look on her face gave him the impression this person wasn’t a friend.

He started to push himself up, and she held out a palm, saying, “It’s okay. I’m going to get rid of them. Stay here.”

Din settled back as Pari walked out. She closed the front door behind her, and he watched her wrap her sweater around herself as she walked across the deck. He then lost sight of her as she opened the gate and went down the steps.

Sash hopped up on the couch, scooting on her knees until she bumped his shin. Her body leaned over him as it fell forward, letting her elbows break her fall on the back of the couch. Plopping her chin on her fists, she looked out the window.

He could hear voices. Pari and a man were talking. The girl made a face and a sound of disgust. Looking at her, Din asked, “Do you know who’s out there?”

The girl sighed. Turning away from the windows, her hip brushed his good leg as she sat down on the cushion. “Yeah.” Her face puckered like something smelled bad, telling him, “It’s Jett.”

More talking could be heard, the same two voices, and Din said, “You don’t like him.”

Sash shook her head, “He was one of Daddy’s workers. He’s bossy.”

He heard laughter, and Din realized it wasn’t just Jett out there. Pari raised her voice over the boisterous sounds of more than a couple of men, and she did not seem happy.

Sash looked at Din, “He’s bossy with mommy too, and he makes stupid jokes.”

Din pushed the blanket off himself and held out his hand to the girl, “Help me up?”

She slid off the couch and stood before him, “Are you going out there?”

He nodded, and she nailed him with a satisfied grin.

Gripping his hand in both of hers, she threw her weight back as she stepped away from the couch, slowly helping him to sit upright.

His boots plopped down beside him as he swung his feet to the floor.

Between sitting, standing, and lying down, he found sitting to be the least comfortable. It compressed his insides, which put pressure on his ribs and damaged organs. Holding his side, his inhalations were shallow as he shoved his feet into his boots.

Taking a breath, he exhaled and leaned forward to tie the laces.

It was the first time he’d tried putting on his boots without help since allowing Pari to remove them that night, and Din found out fast that bending over to tie them wasn’t going to happen. Jerking back with a grunt, he breathed in careful breaths.

“I could tie them for you.”

Din looked at Sash, and he asked, “Could you just pull the laces tight?” She did, and he said, “Good. Now, just stuff the ends inside and buckle the tops for me.”

When she finished, he used the armrest as leverage and pushed himself to his feet. Sash grabbed his arm and pulled him forward. His injured leg had grown stiff beneath him again, and he staggered once as Peri’s firm voice sounded off from outside.

_“Remove your hand before I break it.”_

Mocking male laughter pushed Din the rest of the way to his feet, and he stood tall as he walked to the door. He focused on ignoring the pain in his leg, and by his fourth step, he’d once again packed away the majority of his limp.

Din grabbed his blaster from the top of the bookshelf by the door. Slipping it into the holster, he looked at Sash, telling her, “Stay inside.” Then, he opened the door and stepped out into the biting cold winter air.

Jett’s gaze flicked up at him as soon as he walked onto the deck. A greasy grin slapped onto the man’s face, and he drawled, “Well, lookie what the cat just drug out.”

The snarky comment carried to Din as he was closing the door behind himself, and he walked across the wood planks until he had Pari and all three men in his sight.

Pari was at the bottom of the steps, using her small body to stand in the way of a tall, burly-looking man who acted like he intended to move past her. Her posture spoke otherwise.

That, Din assumed, must be Jett. The two lanky men behind him, his crew.

Jett tossed his head toward Din, asking Pari, “How long are you gonna let this guy bum off you?”

Standing tall with her arms folded across her chest, Pari remarked, “I don’t see how that is any concern to you.”

“Cuz, I care about ya, doll.”

“How did you even find out, anyway?”

Jett scoffed and then looked over his shoulder to each of his crew, saying, “She wants to know who told us.”

The man was stalling, buying himself time to come up with a sensible explanation. His actions stank of deceit.

Eyes narrowing behind his visor, Din got the idea that Jett’s intel had been gathered by dishonorable and intrusive tactics.

Clearly, still waiting for an answer, Pari stood firm and stared him down.

Scoffing with another burst of laughter that projected cowardly insecurities, Jett told her, “It’s a small town, Pari. People are bored, and they talk.”

She didn’t respond, and he told her, “I’m just trying to look out for you. You should have someone looking out for you, being all alone out here with that little girl of yours since Junn’s gone.”

Pari’s back went ramrod straight at the sloppy mention of her deceased husband.

His disrespectful, empty words had Din’s hands clenching at his sides. Sleaze was practically oozing off this guy in waves. For now, though, he stayed out of it. Pari was handling it, and he was content to let her fight her own battles. Remaining where he stood, he observed as Jett reached out and touched her cheek.

She smacked his hand away, declaring, “I can take care of myself.”

“You don’t know the guy, doll, and you’re letting him sleep under your roof.”

“Again, what goes on behind my walls is my own business.”

“You know,” Jett wagged a finger in her face, and Din rolled back his shoulders.

Glancing to the scrawny guy to his right, Jett maintained, “I never liked you letting these strays on your property like you do. But you’ve always been smart enough to keep your distance from them, and I’ve held my tongue. This time, Pari, this time you’ve let one sweet talk you into entering your home. Can’t you see how foolish that is?”

Din heard the door behind him slip open.

Taking a step closer, Pari’s voice dipped to just shy of hostile, demanding, “What part of _my business_ don’t you get?”

“Hell, think about your pretty little girl! For all you know, this son of a bitch is some sort of demented pervert just waiting to attack you two in your sleep!”

“You take that back!” Sash shrieked from behind Din, and then Warrior-dove Jr. nearly shot straight past him and would have charged the stairs, if his hand didn’t come down on her shoulder, stopping her. 

Hearing Sash’s voice, Pari spun around, and the look Din saw in her eyes scattered any doubts that she and her daughter took after the fighter in her father. He also caught a glimpse of that temper they had talked about on the couch a week ago.

Her eyes landed on Sash and skipped to him and how he had the girl trapped against his side. It was enough to calm her concern over her daughter running headlong into an unstable situation.

Turning back to face the man at the bottom of the steps, Pari said, “Jett. Look, I’m a good judge of character. It comes from working with animals for years, I guess. Like them, I can just tell the kind ones from the bad ones.” Her words were pointed, and she let them settle for a moment before saying, “I think it’s time for you boys to leave.”

Shaking his head, he pointed at Din, “I ain’t going anywhere until that guy gets in that piece-of-crap ship and is out of here.”

“I said, leave.”

Jett looked at Pari and then up to Din. His bearded cheeks burned hot with anger as he glared, and Din held his gaze.

Jett looked away, and then he turned back and stepped up on Pari.

Din’s hand slipped down to Sash’s bicep. Nudging the girl behind himself, he laid a calm hand over the grip of his blaster, cautioning, “I believe you were told to leave.”

Jett’s eyes skipped between Din and the blaster at his side a couple of times. It was the look that bounties got when they were weighing the odds of surviving through an offensive.

From behind Din, Sash’s small hand touched his back, and he gave the arm still firmly enclosed in his grip a light squeeze.

Jett thought for a second more, and then barked, “Fine. _Fine._ You want me to go, Pari? I’m gone. But I’m around. I’m watching.” He pointed at Din, “I hear about anything I don’t like, and I’m gonna handle things _my_ way.” Then, he turned and sulked back to his vehicle with his crew following behind.

Din stood on the deck, watching the men get into their vehicles. They were pulling out of the driveway, as Pari climbed the last step and started toward them. Sash brushed past him and ran to her mother, and Pari captured her into a hug.

Out in the street, a dirt cloud kicked up by oversized tires spitting road gravel as Jett’s truck spun out. Watching it drive out of sight, Din stated, “I don’t like that man.”

Pari grinned, patting his pauldron as she stepped past, saying, “That means you fit in just fine around here.”

Following her inside, he closed the door and trailed after her into the kitchen, saying, “I’m serious, Pari. The guy is trouble.”

She gave him a look as she loaded a few dishes into the dishwasher, saying, “You don’t know him.”

“I know his type. I’m telling you, he’s dangerous.”

Pari watched Sash grab a cheese stick out of the fridge and then turned back to him, “Din, I’ve known Jett since we were kids. I went to school with the guy. He’s a bully, he gets pushy, and he’s an ass, sure, but he’s not much more than that.”

Sounds of their interrupted movie started up from the other room as Din thought. Choosing his words carefully, he spoke. “Sash mentioned he used to work for your late husband.”

Pari nodded, “He was on his crew, yeah.” She stared out the kitchen windows for a moment, and then she scoffed, saying, “He waited a whole month after I lost Junn before trying to make a move on me.”

Din’s helmet tilted at that.

Pari grinned, “Jett’s just classy that way.”

Din watched her go to the back door and let Riley outside. Walking gently, he used the counter for support as he moved toward the mudroom, asking, “Does Rherr know about this guy?”

She looked at him, “No.”

“Why not?”

“Because Jett doesn’t need to suddenly show up on a missing person’s ad, that’s why.”

“I don’t know…” Leaning against her counter, Din folded his arms across his chest, admitting, “It’s not the _worst_ that could happen.”

Turning away from the window in the door, she leveled a look at him, “I can handle myself.”

“I have no doubt. You made that very clear out there.”

Pari opened the door, and the dog ran back inside. He stopped to sniff at Din’s leg and then trotted into the living room.

Din turned with her as she walked past, “All I’m saying is I know his type. As you said, he’s a bully. Small-minded and used to getting what he wants by intimidation. He’s only going to wait so long before his actions escalate. And with me here, there’s a good chance that’ll happen sooner than later.”

Walking over, Pari stood close and leaned against the counter beside him, “What makes you say that?”

Looking down at her, Din said, “He feels challenged.”

 _“Challenged?”_ Pari laughed, “He has absolutely no ground to feel challenged. All I have ever done was shut him down or shut him out. Even in high school, I never gave him the time of day.”

Taking the weight off his leg, Din leaned in, telling her, “True as that may be, it doesn’t matter. In his head, you’re already his.”

“It’s been three years, Din. If he was after me as much as you say, why is he dragging it out.”

“He likes the chase. For him, it’s a game.”

Looking away, she scoffed, shaking her head.

Din was gentle but firm as he turned her back to face him. Pulling her near, his tone was quiet for Sash’s sake as he proposed, “Why do you think he only waited a month after your husband passed before making advances on you?”

Pair looked up at him and blew out a breath, “Because he’s an idiot.”

“No,” Din countered, “He’s not.”

Pari’s expression went blank as his statement sank in. Her eyes searched the black of his visor, and he watched the pieces start to fall into place.

She huffed in annoyance once, not wanting to believe what he was saying, but her eyes were becoming misty, and a mix of fury and resentment played across her brow.

“So, you’re saying…” She cut off, huffing again in disbelief. Din’s hands squeezed her arms as she kept staring at him, “You’re saying he waited a month on purpose because he thought I would be easy pickings?”

Her voice quivered from anger, and Din rubbed up and down her arm, saying, “It was a manipulation tactic, yes. He figured a month after losing Junn, would be enough time for you to feel lonely enough to slip in and fill what he considered to be a convenient vacancy in your life. If you turned him down, he could just pass it off as not having any class. He plays the clueless, no-class brute as a cover, but he’s anything from stupid, Pari. And, I’m telling you, he has the potential to become dangerous.”

She stared straight into his visor for a minute and then broke the contact by looking away. Pressing a hand to her forehead, she slumped a little against the counter, saying, “I’m such an idiot.”

Din closed the small gap between them, and Pari leaned against him as he replied, “You were grieving, Pari. You weren’t supposed to be on the lookout for someone trying to cash in on your pain.”

“I want so badly to tell you you’re wrong.” She shook her head against his chest, “I want to insist that I’ve known him almost my whole life, and he would never…” cutting herself off, she looked back up at him, “But that’s the problem, Din. I’ve _known_ him almost my whole life, and I’ve seen him pull shit like that on other people. The manipulation, mind game crap.”

She groaned, “Maker, I should have _known_.”

“Sometimes it’s hard to see what’s really going on when you’re looking out from inside of a situation.”

Din took her by the chin and, tilting her face up toward him again, he told her, “I know you can take care of yourself. I know you don’t need anyone to fight for you. Regardless, I highly suggest cluing in Rherr on this guy.”

“You talked about things escalating with Jett. You don’t think being threatened by my scary-ass Mandalorian brother in law would do that?”

Din’s hand dropped from her chin to her shoulder, and he admitted, “It could, but if you do nothing, you’re giving him the green light to continue bothering you until he decides he’s done playing around and just takes what he wants.”


	10. Frustrations and Negotiations

“How long?”

Pari looked over and found Rherr leaning against a fence post to her corral. He wasn’t there a moment ago. It creeped her out with how stealthy he could be when he wanted to.

“What—no, ‘Hi’ or anything?” Clicking her tongue at Stomper, she gave the lead a tug, keeping the horse’s pace at a steady walk. She moved beside him, studying his gait and how he was planting that rear hoof. Glancing over, she asked Rherr, “When did you get here anyway?”

His golden eyes followed the horse as it walked past, “Little while ago.”

The look Pari threw his way was skeptical. She took a glance out toward the lower pasture. “Where’s your ship? I didn’t hear it come in.”

Rherr turned toward her. Draping his arms over the top rung of the pen, his boot came up to rest on the bottom one. Nodding toward the east, he told her, “Empty lot down the road.”

Shaking her head, she gave him a puzzled look.  _ “Why?” _

“I wanted to do some recon. Didn’t want to announce my arrival.”

“You came in silent and did a reconnaissance of my property?”

“Yup.”

“Isn’t that kind of overkill for the situation?”

“I don’t know.” Rherr’s gaze sliced back to her, “Is it?”

Pari’s shoulders drooped and she sighed, “You’re pissed.”

Tilting his head, his shaggy ginger-blond hair got ruffled by the cold breeze as he considered her statement. Looking back at her, he amended it, “I’m not happy.”

“Why, because I didn’t tell you about a guy that almost never comes around anymore?”

“Because you didn’t tell me about a guy that has a dangerous obsession with you.”

“You sound like Din.” Pari shook her head, “Rherr, it’s not like that.”

“Really.”

Looking at him, Pari’s eyes roamed over her brother’s stony expression and she tried to smooth things out, “Look, I know you guys are trained to be on guard and suspicious and all that—”

Rherr lowered his foot from the rail. “Aside from the other day, when’s the last time you saw this guy?”

Pari’s brows pulled together. “You’re cutting me off now?”

“Answer the question.”

“What the hell is up with you.”

“Answer the damn question, Pari!”

Stomper tugged on the lead as she stopped and stared at Rherr. In the decade that she's known him, she could only think of one time in their past that he had raised his voice with her. His stance, his eyes, the expression he nailed her with, and all of a sudden, the man standing before her wasn’t her goofy, lovable, brother. Right then, he was a Mandalorian. Fierce, unyielding, and just a little bit scary.

For a moment, she just blinked at him, and then asked for clarification. “Last time I saw him here, at the house?”

“Start with the last time you saw him anywhere.”

She thought for a minute. “I don’t know. Might have bumped into him last month while I was in town.”

“And here? Aside from the other day.”

“A long time. I don’t know. Six months, maybe more.” Pulling Stomper with her, she walked up to him. The fence stood between them as she gave him a hard look, “What’s got you so riled up?” She looked into his eyes. “No. There’s something else. What is it, Rherr? What aren’t you telling me?”

Sighing, he reached behind his back and unclipped something from his belt. He set it on the rail between them. “Found this; didn’t look like one of yours.”

Pari frowned as she looked at the trail camera he was holding, and then he told her, “ _ Really _ didn’t think it was one of yours once I checked the content it managed to capture. Lots of pictures—didn’t find any wildlife. Want to guess what I  _ did _ find on it?”

Her gaze skipped from the trail cam to Rherr. His eyes were dark and dangerous. Swallowing, she said, “Me.”

“And Sash, but the majority of the storage got used up on the night Din arrived. Pictures of you dragging him into the barn. The two of you sitting in your truck in front of the house. You helping him out of the truck, then at the bottom of the deck steps, halfway up the steps, the  _ top _ of the steps…and many more like that. The last ones were a set of about twelve from yesterday; you, Sash, and Din out by the barn.”

Pari’s mouth went dry. Her damn throat went dry. She had to swallow a couple of times, before saying, “The ones with us out by the barn, that would have been about a couple of hours before Jett showed up.” She felt a little shaky as she told him, “He’s been interested in me for…stars… since school. It’s so long to pine over someone without really acting on it. Din said maybe he sees it as a game; that he likes the chase…”

Rherr’s tone softened, and most of the anger cleared from his golden eyes. His hand landed on her arm, “Din could be right. I would have probably had a similar theory—before I found the cam.”

“You have a different one now.”

“Yeah, I do.” He turned and glanced up at the house. Turning back, he asked, “Sash is at school?”

“Yes.”

“How long until you’re done out here?”

“I can be done now.”

He nodded, “All right, get your patient settled, and then we’ll continue this discussion inside.” Slipping his helmet over his head, Rherr added, “This concerns Din, too.”

~~

Standing at the kitchen sink, Din was rinsing off his plate as Pari walked in the backdoor. He did a double take when Rherr came in behind her.

Growing up as a founding, Din’s spent a lifetime learning to read body language. It’s just something you home in on when most everyone around you wears a mask. As Rherr stepped around Pari to shake his hand in greeting, Din got a solid read off the man: Frustration, safeguarding protection, and self-controlled fury.

Standing at the counter, Din looked between the two. Pari seemed a little shaken, and he looked back to Rherr. “What’s going on.”

“Pair called,” Rherr began, “Told me about the incident yesterday.”

Din glanced at Pari and nodded, “Good.”

“I got here a while ago; did some recon of the property. Found this.” He set down what looked like a bulky piece of equipment on the island countertop they were all standing around. Looking at Pari, Rherr said, “Show him.”

Her hand landed over it, and she walked over to Din. Standing close, her elbow brushed against his arm as she flicked past a couple of catches and opened the device. It had a tiny screen the size of an ID card. “What is this?” he asked, looking between them. “Surveillance equipment?”

“In a way.” Pari explained, “It’s called a trail camera. You use the straps here to fix it to a tree or fence post. It has a motion sensor that will trigger the camera to take either video, pictures, or both. It just depends on what the settings are. Mostly they are used to capture wildlife. People around here use them to scout out potential hunting activity, or sometimes they are used for home surveillance. I do both. I’ve got about two dozen within the closest twenty-five acres around the house.”

“Okay.” Din looked down at the black screen, “This is one of them?”

“No,” answered Rherr. “It’s not.”

Din’s helmet snapped up and fixed on the Mandalorian at the other end of the island. “But you found it on her property.”

A calculated nod.

Pari glanced at Rherr, and then back at Din, “He’s right, and this one makes mine seem like toys. This thing is seriously high-end. Military-grade. You can network it to others in the area and control the data they capture remotely.”

“ _ How _ remotely?” He hadn’t even seen what images the camera held, but he was getting a pretty damn good idea of the situation.

She shook her head, “I’m not certain. I’ve only looked into the specs of cameras like these. But with a datapad linked to their frequency, I’d guess within at least a five-mile radius.”

“All right.” Looking at Pari, his helmet tilted toward the camera, “Let’s see it.”

Pari flipped a switch. The camera came to life with a chime, and the screen lit up with a company logo. She slid it over to him, saying, “Push this button to advance, and this one to go back.”

“Have you seen what’s on it yet?”

She shook her head, “No.”

Dragging out a barstool from under the kitchen island, Din eased himself down to sit. Pari moved in to look over his shoulder as he took the camera in his gloved hands. Forearms resting on the countertop, his thumb pressed the arrow pointing right.

A picture of Pari standing on the front deck loaded. He pressed the arrow again and looked at one of her and Sash raking leaves. The image drew Pari in close enough that he could feel the heat of her front against his back.

Advancing to the next one showed them looking at the dog running full tilt toward her and Sash. The next frame showed Riley exploding out the other side of the pile and Pari laughing as Sash ran after him with the rake. The next one, a close up of Pari laughing. The one after, just her face filled the frame.

Beside him now, Pari’s head practically lined up with his helmet as she stared at the camera's small display. Her breaths were moving with an anxious edge. Din was already pissed, but now with evidence the girls were being stalked, he felt the itching urge to go find the guy and beat him until he was a mess on the floor.

Adjusting on the seat, he advanced through the next few frames: Pari and Sash walking down the driveway, the girl with her glittery pink school bag; Pari opening the barn—

Frowning, Din tilted the camera, looking at the amber-colored glass at the bottom of the device, “What’s the lens angle on this thing?” He turned in his seat and looked over his shoulder at Pari, “The barn and driveway are practically within 180 degrees of each other.”

“Yeah,” Clearing her throat, she exhaled, saying, “It’s networking into other cameras and pulling images from them.”

“Yours.” It wasn’t a question.

Her eyes landed on his visor. “Yes.”

Breathing out a short exhale, he turned back to the camera and continued to scroll through more pictures of Pari, Sash, and Riley. Each image had a date stamp in the upper right corner, so it wasn’t a surprise when he came across pictures of him and Pari the night he arrived.

It was the  _ number _ of pictures collected that night that shocked him.

There were at least five of her helping him out of the truck at the barn. Four more just capturing their stalled progress in the beams of the headlights. The next three were a close up of her getting on to him for not leaning on her. The following seven captured them walking only a few more steps into the barn.

Pari’s hand braced against the counter, and she leaned so near to his shoulder, he could feel the rise and fall of her chest on his back as he advanced through the next twenty-three. All of them captured him and Pari at various parts of their trek into the house. After that, he looked at about twelve of him, Sash and Pari walking out to the barn yesterday.

Din set the camera down on the counter, and Pari took a step back. Swiveling on the stool, he looked at her, pointing out, “You asked Jett how he knew about me being here in your house.” Helmet tilting toward the trail cam, he told her, “If the data on that thing can be accessed within five miles of here, guess that’s your answer.”

“Guess so.” Her voice sounded thin as she stared at the trail camera, and he gave the side of her leg a light pinch. She blinked at the camera and then turned to face him.

“This is going to stop.”

Pari flashed him an uneasy smile, “I never realized…” She looked over at Rherr. “I hardly ever see the guy. I had no idea that he was freaking obsessed with me.” Turning back to Din, “I mean, I knew he liked me—had a thing for me, but—” back to Rherr, “nothing sick, like  _ this _ .”

Her breath stuttered, and it seemed like she had to swallow it down. Looking at the camera, her voice started to sound shaky, “He’s collected a lot of pictures of Sash too. It’s not just me he’s obsessed with.”

Starting to tremble, she went sheet white. Din yanked out the empty barstool beside him as Rherr took her by the shoulders and guided her down to it. Her hands landed on her knees, and she gripped them until her fingertips turned white.

Rherr’s gloved hands fell over top of hers, and he squeezed. “Din’s right, Pari. This stops. There’s a plan here. We just have to work it out.” She looked at Rherr, and he told her, “We know the issue. Now we can fix it. Okay?”

“I’m not stupid,” she told him and then turned to her other side to face Din, “and I’m not naive, either.”

Din shook his head, “No one’s implying that you are.”

“Then why do I keep feeling that I am?” A tear slipped down her cheek. She scowled, sweeping it off her face.

“Pari,” Din’s hand landed on her back. “I told you this guy was smart. He knows what he’s doing and has worked hard to keep his tracks concealed. It was one camera strapped to one out thousands of trees on your property.” He picked up the camera, “Don’t get mad at yourself because you didn’t see this thing hiding out in the woods.”

Pari looked at the camera and then at him. Din stroked his thumb over her back, “Okay?”

She looked at Rherr, and the man agreed with a nod. Glancing at Din again, she told him, “I guess.”

Pari drew in a steadying breath and took the camera from his hand. Looking between the two Mandalorians, she asked, “So, what are you thinking?”

Moving to prop an elbow on the counter beside her, Rherr started by saying, “Based on the little I know of the guy, and what happened the other day, my guess would be he’d figured out long ago, he wouldn’t be able to have you. After Junn passed, maybe he reconsidered his chances. Took a shot. After getting rejected, I think stalking you had been mostly satisfying his desires. Maybe he was content to just fantasize—until Din arrived.”

Pari told him, “Din said that him being here makes Jett feel challenged.”

“I agree. I think he feels challenged and threatened enough that he’s no longer okay with just watching you and Sash. I think maybe now he’s going to pursue you until he has you, whether you’re interested in him or not. Unless something convinces him not to.”

“So, what do you want to do?”

“What do  _ I _ want to do?” Rherr asked, and Din fired off, “Beat him into next Tuesday.”

Rherr pointed at him, nodding enthusiastically.

“Come on, guys.” She looked between them, “Don’t you think that’s going a bit too far?”

The two Mandalorians in her kitchen answered in tandem, “No.”

“I can’t let you go kick this guy’s ass.”

_ “Why?” _ questioned Rherr.

“Because he obviously has something wrong with him; mental illness or something.” She tapped the side of her head for emphasis. “It would be like beating up someone with anxiety because they couldn’t relax.”

Rherr stared at her, and then his tone signaled a narrowing glare behind the helmet, “It’s  _ nothing _ like that, at all.”

“Just try talking to him.”

“Talking.” Rherr repeated in a flat tone.

Din shook his head. Bringing both arms back to the counter, he folded his hands, “It’s not going to be enough.”

Pari turned to him, “It’s going to have to be.”

“I promise you; it won’t be.”

“It’s going to have to start there.”

Din echoed Rherr, “Why? Why are you so against going in hot and maybe fixing this in one shot?”

She looked at Din, reciting:

_ “Being admitted to the profession of veterinary medicine, I solemnly swear to use my scientific knowledge and skills for the benefit of society through the protection of animal health and welfare, the prevention and relief of suffering, the conservation of animal resources, the promotion of public health, and the advancement of medical knowledge. _

_ I will practice my profession conscientiously, with dignity, and in keeping with the principles of veterinary medical ethics. I accept as a lifelong obligation, the continual improvement of my professional knowledge and competence.”* _

Looking at him still, she explained, “That’s the oath I swore myself to before becoming a vet. Yes, it applies to animals, but what the hell do you think we are? We’re all just another type of animal, and I believe that hunting Jett down without even bothering to try and talk to him first goes against the ethics of a vow that I take very seriously. All I do, every day, my life revolves around raising Sash and helping living creatures heal and recover. ”

She touched his leg just above the healing incision mark, “It’s who I am, and that is practically the exact opposite of the use of violence you two fall back on out of instinct.”

Pari looked at Rherr, “Just last week, you defended your belief that hiding injuries from a stranger strengthens the collective Mandalorian soul.” Turning, her gaze landed on Din, “You laid awake,  _ suffering, _ to protect your beliefs as I cut into your leg, down to the freaking artery, because I couldn’t put you under without removing your helmet.”

Leaning past Pari, Rherr looked at him. “Really?”

Din looked over, “Yeah.”

“That’s pretty hardcore.”

Din’s head bowed slightly. “This is the Way.”

Rherr’s helm reciprocated the gesture. “This is the Way.”

Gaze shifting between the Mandalorians flanking her, Pari stated, “And, this is  _ my  _ way. I may not agree with some of your principles, but I respect them. I’d never ask you to change who you are or what you believe. In return, I expect the same consideration.”

Din sat and looked at her as Rherr drew in a loud breath, plopping both his elbows down on the countertop beside her. It was a clear signal of defeat.

She gave Din a small grin, and he sighed, conceding, “All right. Point taken.”

Pari looked at Rherr, and he nodded, “Yeah, little sis. I hear ya.”

She touched his arm, saying, “Just start there. Okay? Talk to him. Be as scary as you want. Convince him of imminent doom if he doesn’t stop. If the warning doesn’t take,  _ then _ you can go back and kick his ass.”

“Okay,” Rherr turned back to face them again. “What’s this guy’s full name?”

Pari answered, “Jett Qesh.”

“Physical description?”

“Late 30s; early 40s,” Din began, “Short brown hair, brown eyes, full beard—trimmed, 6’1”, and 217 pounds. He’s got a tattoo of a flaming skull on the inside of his right forearm.”

Pari’s body rotated on her stool to face him. Eyebrows raised, she noted, “That’s quite a specific guess on height and weight.”

Din smirked, “The visor gives me a calculated readout.” He looked back at Rherr, saying, “He brought a couple of guys with him. One was a Lasat, missing an eye; the other a Chiss.” He looked at Pari, remembering, “They didn’t seem eager for a confrontation.”

Shaking her head, she turned back at Rherr, “I agree. They seemed like they were there for backup, but once Din stepped out onto the deck, they got twitchy.”

“Twitchy?” questioned Rherr.

“Yeah,” Din told him, “I barely touched my blaster, and they were already backing up, ready to leave. I doubt you’ll have much of an issue with them if they’re around when you find Jett.”

~~

A little later, Pari excused herself and went back outside to finish up Stomper’s physical therapy.

She was halfway to the barn when Rherr called after her. Turning, she watched him jogging to catch up. “Hey,” he said, pulling off his helmet and planted a quick kiss on her cheek. “I’ve got to take off.”

She nodded and remembered where his ship was, saying, “You cutting back through the woods, or do you want a ride?”

“Nah. It’s only about a mile. I’ll just hoof it.”

He started walking that way, and Pari fell into step beside him. A frosty breeze blew in and stung the tender parts of her ear. She pulled her hood up, and Rherr mentioned, “Din and I were talking for a little bit after you left. We’re thinking that it might be a good idea to get Sash out of here for a little while, especially since we’re not sure which way this is going to go after I have a chat with the boy.”

Pari thought about that and said, “All right, but not until Thursday. Then she’ll be out of school for a scheduled break.”

“I guess I can wait until then to hunt down the guy.” Frozen field grass crunched under his boots, and he looked over at Pari, asking, “So, what’s going on with you two?”

Looking thoroughly confused, she questioned, “With  _ who  _ two?”

“You and Din.”

She laughed. “Rherr, nothing.”

He didn’t push, but after a moment, added, “I’m not against it or anything; it’s good to see you flirting again.”

She stopped dead in her tracks; mouth hanging open, she sputtered for a second, “I am  _ not _ flirting with him.”

Rherr’s grin spread across his face, wide and toothy, saying, “Yeah, you are.” His gloved hand raised to show her a small measure between his thumb and index finger, saying, “Little bit.”

She scoffed. It was the only response she could drum up since the rest of her brain was busily misfiring at the implication.

He laughed, “Pari, relax!” Grabbing her shoulder, he gave it a playful jerk, saying, “It’s clear he doesn’t mind.”

“Rherr…” Again, it was the only thing she could spit out.

He stood there, grinning at her, and then started walking toward the tree line again. “Did he ever decide about the option of trying to come back with his foundling?”

She glanced over as the thought train in her mind switched tracks, “We haven’t really talked about it at length. He’s still holding back, but I think he’s close to cluing me in. I’m not going to push him about it.”

“Did you ask your star guy about return coordinates?”

She nodded, “He said it’s not as simple as just reversing them but should only take him an extra day to get it plotted.”

“So, how much longer before Din gets both coordinates?”

“Seven days.”

Rherr nodded. The entrance to the woods stood before them, and he turned to face her. Taking her by the shoulders, he said, “Din seems like a good guy. The few times I’ve gotten to speak with him, I already like him. We seem to share a common opinion on a lot of things.”

“Good…” She raised an eyebrow when he didn’t continue.

His gaze shifted to the distance over her shoulder as a faraway look settled over him. It’s what he does when he’s trying to form the right words. Finally, his eyes skipped back down to her, and he sighed, “All I’m trying to say is, take it easy, okay? Even if he decides to try and come back... it’s not a guarantee he’d make it, right?”

A sadness pulled on her heart at the thought, and she realized that maybe Rherr wasn’t crazy after all. Was she falling for this guy? She’d allowed herself to enjoy a little bit of closeness, sure, but was she falling?

Looking at Rherr, she swallowed and confirmed, “It’s not a guarantee.”

They shared a look of understanding. Giving her a nod, he changed the topic back to Sash, saying, “She’s welcome to come and stay with me at the base. You know she’s got a cot in my quarters, and I can’t be there all of the time, but she knows everyone in the child center. She has many friends there.”

Pari smiled, “She’d love to visit. I don’t know, though. It’s so far away.”

“An hour by ship. That’s not too bad.”

“I don’t know. Maybe, or I might just give my mom a call and see if she can take her during her break from school.”

“Whatever you feel is best,  _ vod’ika.” _ He pulled her in and wrapped his arms around her. Squeezing her tight, he said, “Call me and let me know. Thursday is only three days away, and I’m _really_ looking forward to meeting Jett.”

**Translations:**

_ vod’ika— _ little sister

**Reference:**

*https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Veterinarian%27s_Oath


	11. Fear, Frustration, Lovers, and Enemies

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pace yourselves. This chapter is twice as long as usual.

“Can I have the brick separator?” asked Sash.

Pari’s eyes roamed over the plush carpet in her daughter’s room, “Where’d you have it last?”

Sash looked at her. “I thought you had it?”

“Great.” Pushing herself to her knees, Pari stood up. She turned in a circle, looking among the hundreds of Legos scattered over the large mat where they’d been playing. Coming up empty, she reached down, groaning, as she lifted the girl straight off the mat.

“Mom!” Sash yelled. Keeping her legs tucked in their crossed position, she leaned her head back against Pari, laughing.

“Uh-huh. I thought so!” Swinging the girl downward, she wrapped an arm around her belly. Holding her like a sack of potatoes, she questioned, “What’s that, Sash?”

The child was laughing too hard, squealing about not being able to breathe, yet she could draw in enough air to laugh like a loon. Pari leaned over, tipping her daughter in her grip until she hung upside down. “What’s that. Right there, kid? Hmm? Right where your rear was sitting…”

Sash screamed again, and Riley trotted into the room, barking, and jumping around them as he tried to play. Pari internally winced at the racket they were making. If Din had dozed off in the living room, he surely wouldn’t be asleep now. 

It didn’t concern her as much as it might have a week ago.

The Mandalorian recovering under her roof was still held back by his injuries. Regardless, he was undeniably better than even a few days ago. Backed off on the pain meds, he was awake for most of the day, moving better, and able to tolerate an inclined position instead of laying mostly prone.

So, as Pari held Sash upside down in her arm, shaking the girl like she expected shiny coins to start falling from her nose, she didn’t worry so much about disturbing the guy holding down the couch in her living room. 

Sash screamed through a garbled statement of guilt and, determining it was good enough, Pari laid the girl down on the floor. Reclaiming her spot on the mat, Pari grabbed the monstrosity of a house she’d been working on and pulled it back in front of her. Sash caught her breath and then rolled over to lay right next to her. Reaching for the item guilty of starting the whole episode, Sash crammed the brick separator between a couple of flat pieces and got back to work.

Pari leaned over and knocked her arm against her daughter’s shoulder, asking, “So, have you decided if you want to go stay with grandma or your _ba'vodu_ on Base?”

Sash shrugged, “I don’t know. I just want to stay here with you, especially if Din is going to be going home in a few days.”

The roof caved in on her house again, and Pari stopped herself from cursing. Cocking her head to the side, she said, “You barely know him, kid. Are you sad about him leaving?”

“What.” Sash replied, sounding slightly defensive. “He’s nice. He lets me pick out what we watch, and he quizzes me in Mando’a.” She shrugged, “I like him.”

Pari smiled, “Fair enough.” She looked closer at what her daughter had built, “Is that a _bakery?_ ” The girl nodded, and Pari leaned in to inspect it. “You built the oven yourself?”

“Yeah.”

Examining further, Pari saw her daughter had even put a transpirsteel viewing window in the oven’s door. Looking at the craftsmanship of Sash’s creation made Pari want to slip her mangled, concaved house under the bed.

Legos never were one of her strong suits. She didn’t have an artistic mind like her daughter. Then again, she doubted Sash would ever be able to do math in her mind to the degree that she does. So much like her father, Sash’s brain was creative based, where Pari’s was all logic and science.

Pushing herself up to sit on the mat, Pari told her, “What if I promise you’d be back before Din had to leave.”

Sash started raking through the Lego bin between them. After a moment, she picked out a piece and said, “Okay. Why do I have to go again?”

“Because,” Pari took a breath, explaining, “Because some things are going on around here that your _ba'vodu_ and I—Din too—feel it would be best if you went and hung out with grandma, or Rherr until it blows over.”

“It’s about Jett, isn’t it?”

Pari brushed her daughter’s hair back off her shoulder, saying, “It could be.”

Sash looked up at her, “Is he coming back or something?”

“Honestly? I don’t think so, honey. Your _ba'vodu_ is going to talk to him, though. He’s going to tell him he can’t come over here anymore, and we just want to make sure you’re nice and safe, just in case he gets mad and makes a bad decision.”

Sash frowned, “Are you going to stay here?”

“I have to. I have appointments all week, and I can’t shut down just because someone thinks they might want to be a bully. People depend on me. Plus, Stomper still needs exercise.”

“Won’t you be in danger?”

Pari shook her head, “Nope. I’ve got Riley, and Din’s still going to be here. He might be hurt, but he scared them off really well last time, didn’t he?”

Sash grinned, “I wish he would have shot them.”

“Sash!” Pari gasped, trying to hide her shocked smile. Maker, she sounded so much like her uncle right then and Pari wondered for the first time if maybe she might take up the helm one day.

Her daughter shrugged. “I guess I’ll stay with _ba'vodu_ .” Rolling onto her back, she held out her bakery for Pari to inspect, saying, “Besides, I’d get to see my friends at the Base. It’s been for _ever_ since I’ve gotten to hang out with them.”

Pari gave her a nod, “He said he could pick you up tonight, so go ahead and start packing. I’ll go call him.”

“Okay.” Sash pushed to her feet and went into her closet and pulled out her overnight bag.

Pari started scooping up Legos. Dumping them back into the bin, she was about halfway finished when someone started pounding on her back door.

Looking up, Pari frowned and jumped to her feet. “Keep packing, love,” she told Sash and walked out into the hallway. Glancing into the living room, she saw Din pushing himself off the couch, and she held up a hand, “Let me go check it out before you start strapping on weapons.”

“Hey,” he called after her, and she leaned back into the room. Pointing at her, he settled back, ordering, “Take the blaster, and you let me know if it’s him.”

She considered her shotgun, but his blaster was easier to maneuver in tight spaces, plus it was already loaded and ready to go. The pounding sounded again throughout the house as she grabbed it off the top of the bookshelf. Jogging into the kitchen, she yelled, “Hold on!” Sash showed up in her doorway, and Pari took a page from Din’s book and pointed at her, ordering, “Pack.”

Walking into the mudroom, Pari had to swallow her heartbeat and force her breathing to calm. She reached out and flipped on the porch light. Seeing one of her clients on her back porch, the relief almost went straight to her head.

Opening the door, she spoke loud enough for Din to hear, “Mr. Zanfries, what’s wrong? Who do you have there?” She looked at the tooka-cat in his arms. “Oh no, what’s wrong with Frenzies?”

The man looked positively distraught as he told her, “He fell from the roof. He keeps howling, and he’s breathing badly. I think…” he took in a shuddering breath, “I think he’s dying.”

“Okay, take him out to the barn—you know where the switch box is?” The man nodded quickly, and she said, “Go fire it up, and I’ll be right out there. Two minutes,” she promised as he ran down the steps of her back porch.

Closing the door, she walked into the living room. “Hey,” she told Din. “I’ve got an emergency. I’ll probably be out there at least an hour. Sash is in her room packing; she decided to stay with Rherr. I’ll call him on my way out to the barn.” Looking at him, she said, “When Sash finishes, she’s going to want to stay in here with you. Is that okay?”

Tilting his head, he asked, “Is it okay with _you?”_

It surprised her, but she found she didn’t have to consider the question before answering, “Yes.”

He gave her a nod, “Then we’ll be fine.”

~~

Rherr stood by the door, holding Sash’s overnight bag as she walked over to the couch. Wrapping her hands around his neck, she told him “Bye, Din.” He responded to her hug by squeezing her back.

Standing back up, Sash looked at him, “Don’t leave before I get back. Okay?”

He gave her arm a slight squeeze. “I’ll try my best.”

She seemed moderately satisfied with that, saying, “Okay.” Then she turned and followed Rherr outside, Pari followed, and Riley slipped through the door just as she was closing it.

He heard them walk down the front porch, and he sat there for a moment figuring out the odd heaviness settling over his chest. He hadn’t been able to promise the girl that he’d still be there when she got back, and that had been strangely difficult for him.

Taking a deep breath, he pushed the odd feeling away and picked up his datapad again. He was going through the specs of the ship, figuring his fuel supply, and about where in his dimension the professor thought he might end up. Looking at the planets and moons that supported life within the fuel limits he had, he started figuring what his best options would be.

 _“Din!”_ He heard Pari shout for him before she was even in the house.

Helmet snapping up, he was pushing himself off the couch as she busted through the front door. “Pari, what?” He took a step toward her as she spun to close the door. “Sash and Rherr. Are they...?”

Out of breath, she shook her head and waved off his concern, “They’re good; long gone.”

His head moved with a small tic to the side. That… shouldn’t be possible. They literally _just_ walked out the door. They shouldn’t even be out to the lower pasture yet. His thoughts got interrupted as she rushed over to him. Grabbing his arms, she said, “A message, Din! You got a message!”

Hands coming up to touch her arms, he shook his head, “What message?”

Looking at how she grinned ear to ear, her excitement was practically tangible as she squeezed his arms, saying, “I was on my way back up to the house when I got a call from the professor!”

“The professor?”

“Yes!” She was still smiling radiantly, and he could feel it start to catch on with him as she continued, “And he told me that he received a message from your galaxy! It has the same chain code as the one he sent last week. He didn’t open it, but he sent it right over. I have it. I can open it right here for you.”

"What? I…” He was trying to process past the shock of the news. “I thought he said that wasn't possible.”

Shaking her head, she walked around him to the holocomm unit, talking as she downloaded the message from her device. "He isn't entirely sure himself, he started going on about formulas and other star logic algorithms that I couldn't follow, but here—" She pointed at the holocomm, “You know how to work that?”

He was staring at the frozen face of Greef Karga and nodded numbly. The last few moments have been beyond bizarre, and his brain was still catching up. That same heaviness as earlier pressed against his chest, and he had to swallow, telling Pari thanks as she left the room to give him privacy.

Din looked at Karga’s image and walked over to the holocomm. He had no idea what the message would be, and he tried to push away the excitement bubbling up from his gut at the possibility of seeing his foundling. Taking a breath, he pressed the control to play the message and stood back to watch.

“Mando,” Karga’s image flickered, his greeting cut out with a static hiss before the file leveled out. “Greetings, my friend. We received your message. It’s good to know you’re alive and well. I was glad to reverse your MIA status. The kid was quite excited to hear from you.”

Din smirked behind his visor. Crossing his arms over his chest, he waited for Karga to continue.

“Mando, listen. I’m not sure if this will make it back to you or not, but…” He seemed to hesitate there, and it was so unlike the man who usually struggled to keep his conversations short and to the point. Words were not something Karga ever found himself in short supply.

Something stirred in Din’s gut, and he took a step closer to the table holding the holocomm.

“There’s no easy way to say this, Din, so I’ll just come out with it.”

 _He just used his given name._ Din’s hand landed on the table for support. His heart began to pound inside his chest.

“Cara took the child off-planet a few days ago. The word was that Imps were closing in, and she grabbed the kid and took off. They seemed to be doing well, but…”

Another hesitation, and Din growled, “Spit it out, Karga.”

“Her ship was attacked. I was talking with her on comms, and there was an explosion. She was under fire by two other ships. She tried to make a quick jump, but…”

Din’s heartbeat jumped into his throat and began to strangle him. His pulse raged so loud he could barely hear the last part of the message.

“Her call got cut off. I sent out scouts, and they found the scattered remains of her ship.”

Din’s knees gave out and hit the floor hard.

“They're searching the nearby planet and its moons, but...” Karga looked down, shaking his head, he couldn’t even face the recorder. His voice was thick, and he could barely force out, “I’m so sorry, my friend. Cara and the kid…” He took a deep shuddering breath, “They’re gone. They’re just _gone.”_

Din’s hand jerked out and slapped off the message. He didn’t know if there was more. He didn’t need to hear anything else if there was. He knew Karga well enough to be sure he would never deliver such news without having enough proof to back it up.

Din couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t breathe. They were gone? They were gone, and Maker, he couldn’t breathe. His hands landed on the floor in front of him. His heart was exploding, and he couldn’t breathe. His family was gone, and he was seconds away from joining them because his heart was dying, and he couldn’t fucking _breathe._

~~

Out in the lower pasture, Pari pulled her coat around her, watching as Rherr’s ship lifted from the landing pad. Taking a few more steps back, she grimaced as an icy vortex of displaced air whirled and whipped around her. Sash was standing by the transparent wall of the canopy, waving, and Pari smiled, waving back.

Rherr must have told her to sit down and buckle up because she ducked below the enclosure as the ship raised straight up into the sky. It hovered a good seventy feet above her and then shot off toward the east. It was almost out of sight before it did a backflip and came back at her.

Dipping low, the craft buzzed the tall field grass as it closed the distance between them. It pulled up at the last second. Jet wash from the thrusters slammed into her, forcing her back a step and stealing her breath as Rherr snaked the aircraft over her position. Climbing in a wide arc, Pari watched it fly high into the night sky. It twisted into a barrel roll before Rherr leveled it out and punched the thrusters. There was a tearing clap as the aircraft ripped through the cold winter sky, and then it was gone. 

“Show off,” she muttered with a grin at her brother’s flashy departure. She was sure Sash had loved it. Pari watched Riley barking as he chased after the ship’s empty path. Knowing the girl would be egging him on for more she tried not to think of the other stunts Rherr would indulge Sash with on the flight back to the Base.

Nearing the house, Pari climbed the steps to her back porch. She held the door for Riley as they stepped back inside. Shutting the mudroom door behind her, she stood and listened to the quiet of the house. It always seemed just a little bit wrong when Sash was staying somewhere else for the night, almost as if a part of the atmosphere went missing. This time she would be gone for nearly a week. It was going to feel so weird.

Pari shucked off her coat. Draping it over the hook, she followed it up with the scarf wrapped around her neck. Kicking off her boots, she scrubbed a hand through her hair and walked into the living room. 

Looking at the couch, she found the Mandalorian. Helmet turned against the back cushions, Din’s datapad lay abandoned in his lap. Arms folded loosely across his chest, Pari watched as they rose and fell with each deep breath.

Pari stepped forward. Moving with care, she tipped the corner of the datapad into her fingertips. Picking it up, she set it off to the side and then grabbed one of the throw blankets from the back of the couch. Draping it over the sleeping Mandalorian, a pop from the fireplace had her turning to it.

Crouched in front of it, Pari threw on a couple of more pieces as Riley came up to stand beside her, supervising and making sure she was doing it right.

“What do you think, boss?” She scrubbed under his chin, “You approve?”

Leaning back, he stuck his rear in the air as he stretched himself out and then plopped down onto the floor. “Go to sleep, you big baby,” she patted his side and then went back into Sash’s room to finish picking up their Lego mess. 

A short while later, Pari returned to the living room with a steaming mug of tea, and Riley let loose with a long yawn. Looking over, she saw the dog sprawled out by the fire. His large head lay on the stone hearth, and Pari didn’t know how he could stand being so close to the radiating heat. He did it all the time, sometimes laying there so long that he would just stare into the fire and pant. It wasn’t like he had a thin coat either; he was bred for the colder climates.

Setting down her mug on the mantle, Pari decided to do one last adjustment to the fire and stack on a few more pieces so she wouldn’t have to mess with it for a while. Riley got up and turned in a circle. Coming back toward where she squatted in front of the fire, he sat down close enough to push her off balance.

“Seriously, dog,” Pari griped at the heat-sponge as she pushed herself back onto the balls of her feet. Regardless of the jerk-move, Pari reached down and rubbed him behind the ears. The dog’s eyes rolled back in his skull. A deep grumble lifted from his chest right before his head hit the floor with a solid thud. He did it all the time. She called it the death-flop.

She scrubbed the top of his head. “It’s amazing you haven’t given yourself a concussion by now.”

A clipped sound from behind had her swinging her focus over her shoulder. She looked at Din.

Arms that had been relaxed over his chest now pressed close against his sides. His fists stuttered between clenching and relaxing, and for one dreadful second, Pari had a flashback to the mild seizures her husband used to have. However, as she took in Din’s breaths and the telltale stunted movements, she relaxed. He was dreaming. It didn’t seem to be a pleasant one.

Being a soldier, you don’t get to go through combat for years without acquiring some level of battle fatigue. Growing up, she’d seen her dad suffer through many nightmares. It was eerie how much Din’s tense body and anxious breathing resembled what she remembered of her father’s dreaming behaviors. Pushing to her feet, she went to him.

Din’s leg jerked as she approached. A soft grunt slipped out past the vocoder of his helmet as his head tilted further toward the back of the couch. Taking a careful set beside him on the cushion, Pari touched his arm, calling him softly.

Sometimes all it took was a little outside stimulation to interrupt the dream and reset the sleep pattern. Watching Din, she spoke to him again, hoping it would work. The sounds of his harsh breaths and clipped moan hurt to hear. The dream wasn’t passing, it was dragging him down deeper, and he was suffering within it.

Reaching out, she covered his clenched fist with her hand as she brushed her other one up and down his arm. The fist under her hand clenched and released. Pari squeezed his hand. Her thumb rubbed over the knuckles of his gloves, and she spoke calmly, “Din...” Rubbing his arm again, she pressed against the muscle and ran her thumb over it, _“Din.”_

He sucked in a breath, and she thought he was awake, but then his breathing picked up, and he started panting hard and fast. His head rolled toward her, and he gulped in a strangled, pained breath. Giving his shoulder a soft jolt, Pari spoke with authority, “Din. Wake up.”

His hand clamped down hard over hers as he came awake with a gasping breath. Squeezing his hand, she pushed back on his shoulder, grounding him. “Easy. You’re safe.”

Shaky breaths sounded from the voice modulator as his helmet fixed on her. He didn’t say anything, and she got the impression that he was still trying to place what was going on. Holding his hand, Pari’s thumb stroked over his knuckles. She squeezed his forearm, “You were dreaming. Give yourself time to come down from it.”

Din’s visor anchored on her for another few seconds, and then his head dropped back against the pillow. He took a deep breath. She still had a grip on his hand and noticed how shaky he was. Whatever he the dream was, it had rattled him badly. Then he was shoving an arm under himself, groaning as he twisted, forcing himself off the couch.

Grabbing him, Pari stood up, “Okay, wait. Wait!” He was thrusting himself to his feet so fast it nearly sent them both to the floor.

Pari staggered back a step under his weight. His helmet slammed against her shoulder, a harsh breath passing through the steel as she got them righted. His hands gripped her arms, and Pari braced herself as he pushed against her, unfolding himself and gained his stance.

He stepped away from her as soon as he was upright, and then the pacing began. Limping across her floor, Din pressed a hand against his side, as he tried to calm down.

Riley came over and sat down beside her. Watching the Mandalorian, his black ears perked in interest as his head tracked the man, moving back and forth with his motions, as he paced.

Fireplace to the front door, Din walked a tight line. On about the tenth pass, he went to the hearth and stopped. Grabbing the mantle with both hands, he leaned into it, and his head fell forward.

Pari left him alone for another brief moment before she walked up behind him. “Din?” she spoke softly as her hand grazed along the back of his shoulder. The muscles under her touch were rigid and coiled against the stress he carried. Her gaze dipped below the arm he had braced against the mantle, “Talk to me?”

Radiant heat from the fire soaked into her jeans, baking them against her legs as his head turned toward her the slightest. Trailing her hand down his back, she told him, “You don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to, but it might help. I could maybe help you figure something out. Give you a fresh perspective.”

Din drew in a deep, careful breath and held it. Exhaling in a short burst, he pushed off the mantle and faced her. Standing close, he looked down at her for a bit before sighing again, muttering, “It’s wrong. It’s just...”

“What is, Din?”

 _“Everything_.”

His tone was hard, and Pari frowned. “Everything? I don’t—” she touched his arm “—help me understand.”

He looked at her, “Not…” Frustration rolled off him as he sighed for a third time, “Not everything. Not _you_. It’s just, I’m over here, stuck in a different dimension, lying on my damn ass—"

“Healing.”

“—while my kid is probably being hunted down like a fucking exotic trophy!”

Din’s head tipped back, and he exhaled hard a couple of times. Then he was shaking his head and moving away from her, taking quick strides to the couch, and sitting down entirely too fast.

Riley walked over, sniffing near the Mandalorian’s neck, trying to figure out why he was struggling to breathe as he reached for his boots.

Stunned by his quick change in behavior, Pari followed after him as he was shoving in his feet, asking, “Where are you going?”

He didn’t answer, just leaned forward with a strangled grunt as the position put too much pressure on his ribs and grabbed the laces. The sound of his pain sheeted straight through her, and she dropped down beside him to help. Reaching for the laces got her hand shoved away. 

“ _Don’t,”_ Din snapped, the word coming out as a strained wheeze, and sitting back on her heel, Pari watched him cinch up the ones on his other boot. Tying a quick knot, he didn’t bother with the buckles before he was levering himself up by the arm of the couch.

Hauling his body to his feet, Din took a staggering hop-step and marched over to the bookshelf. He holstered the blaster and then was disappearing off into the kitchen, with Riley stalking after.

The back door opened, and then it closed.

A moment later, Riley wandered back into the living room. His bushy tail usually curled up over his back, hung straight down between his legs displaying how unsettled the animal was. He moseyed up to where Pari still knelt on the floor and nuzzled against the side of her face.

Stroking down his fur a couple of times, she murmured, “Let’s just give him a few minutes first, okay?”

Riley’s big paw landed in her lap, and he pushed his head into her chest. She wasn’t sure if he was trying to make her feel better, or if he was reacting to the negative emotions that still hung thick in the room. Lowering her head, she dropped the side of her face down to his neck, and he pushed against her before laying down.

“You _are_ the biggest baby; you know that?” Hugging the mutt, she muttered, “Just one big huge baby.”

A brief flicker caught her eye, and Pari looked into the darkness outside her living room windows. At first, she thought she had just been seeing things, then Riley’s ears perked a half-second before a low rumbling of thunder sounded from the distance. She had entirely forgotten about the storms forecasted to roll in that night. The pattering sound of fat raindrops spanned the length of her roof in warning shortly before the sky opened, and a driving racket of heavy rain began to fall.

Pari looked out the windows again, “That’s going to be a freaking cold ass rain. Come on, dog,” she said, getting to her feet, “Let’s go collect us a Mandalorian before I end up with a brooding ice sculpture out in my yard.”

Grabbing the heavy flashlight and her coat, Pari and Riley stepped out the back door and into the rainstorm.

Closing the door behind them, she squinted through the heavy rain, looking for Din. He wasn’t on her porch, and it didn’t look like he was in the backyard, either. Lightning flashed overhead as she jogged down the porch steps for a second time that night.

Riley ran ahead of her as they followed the path around to the front of the house. The thunder was a booming sound off in the distance as she shined the flashlight’s beam around her yard. He wasn’t in the front either.

“Din!” She called out, and Riley took off. “Go find him,” she told the dog as she sloshed through her soaked yard.

He came running back and dropped his ball at her feet. Pari rolled her eyes. “Not now.”

Pulling her hood up, she shielded herself from the falling rain. It was cold enough outside that the precipitation falling was a miserable mix of rain and ice pellets. It stung as the wind blew, and she called out for the Mandalorian again. No answer came her way as Pari stood on the crest of the small decline leading toward her lower pasture.

Lightning flashed above. “Din!” she called as the flashlight’s powerful beam searched the distance. She barely caught the glint, but then she was swinging back the light and found him standing halfway down the hill. He was just standing there in the drenching, freezing rain.

Wind pushed against her back as she ran down the hill.

The sound of thunder rumbled around her. Long, slow, and ominous, it vibrated through the ground as she beside Din.

He was soaked. It was _maybe_ thirty-three degrees outside, and the guy was freaking soaked to the bone in a freezing rainstorm. Pari was pretty sure he was still upset enough that he wasn’t even feeling the cold. She had to get him out of there.

“Hey,” she shouted over the wind. “How about we move this back inside?” He didn’t respond or move, and, following his gaze, she glanced over her shoulder.

He was staring at his ship.

Looking back at him, she tried again, “Standing under a tree isn’t the best idea right now, Din. The storm is getting close, and this is going to turn into a great spot to get fried.”

He stared at the gunship for another moment, and then his head turned. The Mandalorian’s visor fixed on her. “He has powers.”

She could barely pick his words out of the driving, frozen rain as it pelted everything around them. Lightning flashed across the yard, illuminating it in a harsh white light as she leaned in, “Who does?”

“My foundling. He has powers—healing, levitation... That’s why the Moff is hunting him. He wants my kid for his powers—to clone him, or extract his DNA, or something.”

She wanted to stand there and let him tell her what he’s been holding back all this time, but another bolt of lightning hit too close, landing somewhere out in the woods. The instantaneous clap of thunder was a deafening, piercing sound. The shock of it made her flinch.

His hand landed on her arm. “Come on, Din,” Pari pulled him out from under the tree. “Tell me in the house. It’s not safe out here.” He was quiet as they walked about fifteen yards, and then he stopped. Turning back, she asked, “What is it?”

Shaking his head, he spoke over the nose of the storm, “I know how it works over there. You know?”

_“What?”_

Pari tried to pull him forward again, but he planted his feet. “Back in my dimension, Pari. I know how things work over there. I know how the people think; how they react. I know the politics…”

Wave after wave of freezing rain blew against them. She was soaked from her ass down, whatever her coat didn’t cover. Water was just running off of Din. That’s when she noticed the first shiver roll through him.

He seemed oblivious to it as he kept explaining, “I know how to protect him over there. It’s a complete shit situation, but I know how the game is played in my galaxy.” Lightning flashed around them and the yard glowed in a creepy kind of muted daylight. “But over here, the rules are different. There is no Empire, sure, but everything is so _different_ . Sometimes I feel like I can’t keep up. I mean, look at this!” His arms flew out to his sides, and he hollered, “I’m standing in a freezing rainstorm—on _fucking_ Jakku!”

His exclamation reminded her that in his dimension, Jakku is a desert planet.

Din was a smart guy. No doubt he was well aware of the dangers they were up against as he stood unyielding in her pasture. It was clear he had reached his limit on the amount of crazy that had been thrust upon him this past week. Being forced away from his child, unable to protect him when he was always in so much danger, shoved into a different galaxy that seemed to break most of the rules of his own, he’d internalized all that stress. It made sense that pressures he felt would continue to build in his mind until he eventually went off.

It was the dream that was the final straw. She was positive of that. She was also positive that she wasn’t going to get him to budge until he finished venting. She just hoped to the stars that he would find the end before they got fried by lightning or froze to death.

Walking up to stand before him. Pari touched his arm, “Not everything is different, Din.” Wrapping her arm around him, she could feel him vibrating in one continuous shiver. Trying to urge him forward, she took a step, but he held fast to his position. Sheltered in her winter coat, she moved front of him, blocking the freezing rain and winds as much as possible.

“It pretty much is,” he countered, and she could barely hear him over the thunder chasing the previous bolt of lightning. “But, over here, there is Rherr and his tribe that can offer protection. It wouldn’t just be me, and maybe a friend or two. My kid could have so much more protection than I can do by myself over in my galaxy.”

He was trembling now, not just shivering, as he took her hand, saying, “Even more than that, over here, there is you, and Sash and…” He looked over at Riley, who was busy ripping out clover grass by the chunk and tossing it into the air. Gesturing, Din’s voice is incredulous, as he yelled, “… there’s even the _freaking_ dog! And all I can think about is how much I want to come back and be _here,_ where we can be safe. But I’m supposed to be finding his kind. What if there is none of his kind over here? What if his species doesn’t exist over here? Would it be wrong to take my kid somewhere safer knowing he’d maybe never find his people, knowing we could never go back… but he’s my _son,_ Pari. All I want to do is keep him safe, and I just…” his shoulders drew up toward his helmet, and his body language screamed of conflicted frustration as he told her, “I don’t know what to _do.”_

She grabbed him, pulling him against herself, and hugged him. The trembling in his arms was constant and harsh as they wrapped around her sides. Laying her face to the side of his helmet, the icy steel pressed against her cheek as she told him, “Hey, it’s going to be okay. I promise you; we will get it all figured out. We can stay up all night hashing things out—all day tomorrow and the next day if we have to, but Din, in the name of all that is holy, can we _please_ get out of this fucking rainstorm first?”

Pari didn’t wait for his answer as she kept her arm around him, and, that time, when she steered them back toward the house, he fell into step alongside her. His strides seemed heavy, and his sore leg kept them just a little irregular. Pari was holding him with both arms as he shivered hard enough for the aftershocks to rattle straight through her.

It was concerning. Again, she thought of the temperature outside hovering at or below thirty-three degrees—add in the windchill, and to the body, it felt more like twenty-three. Being soaked like he was, it must have felt akin to climbing out of a frozen pond. Looking up toward the house, Pari hated how far they still had to go.

Maybe if Din had been wearing his cuirass, the heating mechanism in the armor would probably have been enough to counteract the frigid wind and rain. But he wasn’t wearing it. At the moment, it lay on the desk in her spare room. After finding out the hard way that the edge of the armor rested right at where his ribs were busted, he’d been selective in the few times he put it on since that first night. 

Walking him up the steps and into the house, they enter the front and Pari didn’t bother with her dripping coat or her muddy boots, she just steered him past the dark fireplace and straight into her room.

Guiding him to sit down at the end of her bed, Pari ripped off her coat. He was shaking from head to toe, and she told him, “You’re soaked; start stripping.”

He didn’t say anything, just started shedding layers. While he worked on that, Pari ran into the refresher to grab a couple of towels before rejoining him in the dim light of the bedroom.

Squatting beside him, she got to work on the muddy laces on his boots, pulling off one at a time. He was pushing off his flak vest as she moved to stand. Grabbing the soaked garment, she slung it over her shoulder, and when his trembling hands fumbled with the buttons on his shirt, she pushed them away and took over. Peeling his shirt off, she added it to the vest hanging over her shoulder. 

Din’s breath shuddered as he moved carefully, slipping the arm on his bad side through the short-sleeved undershirt. Helping him, Pari maneuvered it over his helmet and added it to the growing pile on her shoulder before draping one of the towels around him.

Pari rubbed her hands over his trembling back, arms, and front. Then, tossing it on the floor, she pulled the dry one around his shoulders, telling him, “Start working on your pants.”

The command had him looking up at her, and she said, “You’re soaked, Din, and probably damn close to hypothermic. The pants come off.”

His hands were still shaking as he pulled off his gloves and handed them over. Pari took them. Holding the waterlogged leather in her hands, she watched him start on his belt, offering, “I can leave if you want me to.”

His visor tilted up at her, “Do you want to?”

She smiled. “Not necessarily.”

A sound that could have been a puff of laughter passed through the modulator, “Then stay.”

Standing, he started to slide his trousers off his hips, but the wet material clung to his legs. Remembering how well bending over went for him earlier, Pari’s hands landed on his hips. She looked up at him as her thumbs slid under the elastic band of his undergarment, “Pants and briefs in one go?”

His voice wavered through a shiver, but she heard the smile as he said, “Go for it.”

The way that last little exchange went down, Pari was fairly certain Din wouldn’t mind if she stole a glance while shimming down his wet pants and _—huh—_ boxer briefs, to his ankles. Any other time she probably would have, but the way he was shaking right then, all she was focused on was getting him out of the wet clothes and getting him warm again.

He sat back against the bed as she pulled his pants past his feet and then peeled off his damp socks. Pari grabbed the towel on the floor and rubbed it over his lower half before gathering up his clothes, telling him, “Get under the covers. I’ll be right back.”

Moving through the living room, she worked his belt out of the loops of his pants as she walked. Making a beeline for the washer, Pari tried not to think about the naked Mandalorian under the covers in her bed.

Slamming the lid, she started the machine, and then hurried back to the bedroom.

She found him lying on his left side, curled up as much as his healing ribs will allow, he had the . thick blankets pulled over him so high, she could barely make out the top of his helmet. Regardless, it was impossible to miss the shuddering breaths that come from the trembling lump underneath.

Pulling back the covers just enough to slip beneath, Pari climbed into the bed. Scooting in close, her hand landed on his arm, and she cursed at how cold his skin was. Drawing back ended up pulling a soft moan of disapproval from him, and she spoke softly, “Hold on just a second.”

Stripping off her sweater and jeans left her in a t-shirt and underwear as Pari crawled back in and laid beside him again. Mindful of his injuries, she reached for him, pulling him into her space. He moved in closer, the motion like instinct as his body sought out warmth.

Pari breathed out a shocked breath as his icy skin came in contact with hers. Din stuttered out an apology, but she just pulled him closer, pressing the warmth of her legs against his. Sliding her feet between his, the cold discomfort was like an electric current shooting through her limbs, onward straight on to her brain. 

Snickering, she complained, _“Stars_ , Din. It’s like cuddling with a popsicle.”

With the crown of his helmet pressed against her collarbone, he just hummed into her chest, shivering against her.

Pari took the arm he had draped over her waist and brought it to his chest, trapping it between them beside his other one. Her arms wrapped around him, covering him with her heat as much as she could.

The intensity of the tremors wracking his body began to dial down as her hand rubbed over the flat of his back. Avoiding his side, she moved it around his hip and ventured down the side of his thigh. The tips of her fingers found her incision mark, and she brushed over it with a delicate touch, “How’s this doing?”

He rode out a partial shiver before answering, “Healing well.”

“You seem to be moving better over the last few days.”

He nodded against her chest, “The leg still stiffens up on me, but it’s tolerating more use.”

“You should be stretching it often.”

A hard tremble shot through him, pulling out a soft grunt from behind the helmet. Din pressed his legs closer to her. “I do, some.”

Holding him close, Pari draped her leg over the top of his, “How about the rest of you? I haven’t done a scan in close to a week.” Her hand rubbed over his back again as she asked, “Everything else is healing okay?”

“Seems to be.”

“Good.” Looking down at him, she offered, “Want me to relocate behind you and thaw out your other side?”

“Okay.”

Pushing back the covers, she slipped out and rounded the end of the bed. Making room for her, Din moved into the warm spot she left behind.

Pari spooned behind him, pressing close. Wrapping her arm around him again, she pressed the tops of her thighs against the fleshy firmness of his backside. Focusing on how cool he felt still, she ignored the fluttering warmth stirring in her belly that came from sharing such an intimate position.

Rubbing her hand along his arm and thigh made her realize she wasn’t the only one becoming distracted as she felt him push back against her with the smallest fraction of movement. Dipping her head, she laid her forehead against his back and dragged her hand back up and settled it over his hip. The wavering breath she heard him exhale didn’t seem much to do with being cold, and she couldn’t help herself from squeezing.

“Pari.” His voice held a husky edge as he asked, “What are you doing?”

Rubbing her nose between his shoulders, she asked a question of her own, “Would you like me to stop?” She squeezed his hip again, and he sounded just a little wrecked, answering, “No… but that’s the problem.”

Raising to her elbow, Pari kissed his shoulder as her hand trailed down his arm. Finding his hand, their fingers interlock, and she asked, “Why is that a problem?”

Din brought their hands up, pressing them to his chest. Feeling his heart beating beneath her fingers, she kissed the back of his arm, and his hips pressed back against her again in response. There was no subtlety behind the motion that time as he told her, “Because you’re bringing me to a point where I might not be able to stop.”

Grinning against his shoulder, Pari pulled him against herself and scooted up. Nuzzling against his bare neck, she breathed him in. Din tipped his head down, exposing more of himself, and Pari kissed just below his helmet. He breathed out a sharp breath, and she spoke against the crook of his neck, asking, “What if I don’t want you to stop?”

Din’s head turned, and then he was leaning back to look over his shoulder at her.

Propped on her elbow, Pari pulled her hand out of his grip and tugged on his shoulder, urging him onto his back. Din followed her lead and laid back. When he got settled, Pari adjusted the covers over them.

He plucked at the hem of her shirt, pointing out, “If that’s the case, then it seems you have a clothes advantage on me.”

Smiling down at him, her hand moved under the covers as it explored across his chest, and she countered with, “I’m not the one that decided to go hang out in a freezing winter thunderstorm.”

Her eyes had long ago adjusted to the dim light in the room, and she saw him pull his arm out from under the covers. He lifted it as high as his damaged side would allow, and Pari took him up on the invitation.

Ducking below his arm, she was careful as she sidled up against him. Din pulled her close as she propped herself over him again. His helmet turned into her and pressed against her chest.

Pari ran her hand over the back of his neck and then dipped her fingers just inside the back of his helmet. She found the soft ends of his hair and trapped the strands between her fingers as she pulled her hand back out.

Din’s arm squeezed her closer, and he groaned into her chest. His other hand moved across their bodies, landing over her hip, and his thumb stroked past the thin elastic of her underwear. Sliding his hand under her shirt, it caressed up her side and then spread across her back, pulling her even closer.

Pari let him pull her down toward him, and she shifted lower in the bed until they were face to face. The crown of his helm came down over her forehead and rested there.

The significance of the gesture was an emotional one for her. Tears began to pool in her eyes, and then Din’s hand was slipping out from under her shirt. Fingers that she was sure had a part in killing and carnage landed on her face with the most tender touch to graze down the delicate line of her jaw, and she smiled at him.

Closing her eyes at his touch, tears slipped past her lashes as she held his hand against her face and then turned into it, kissing the palm. His head became just a little heavier, and her name carried on the breath of his soft exhale.

Pari sank a little lower and laid her head on his chest as her hand moved under the covers, roaming over his collarbone. Circling his nipple caused him to arch back, and his arm crushed her against himself for a second. She turned her face into his chest and kissed him.

Moving her hand lower, it settled over a sparse patch of hair at his navel. His hand landed on top of hers and held on as she placed three kisses to his pectoral muscle, each one a little more south than the other until she found his other nipple and closed her mouth over it.

Din hissed out a low growl, and then the hand not holding her against his side reached out and sunk itself into her hair. Gripping the base of her head, his thumb stroked the side of her jaw and squeezed.

Laying on her side with her stomach flush up against his side, Pari draped her thigh over his and began drawing it up. She kissed lower on his chest, sucking with little nipping kisses, and his hand fell away from her head. Din sunk his hand below the covers and grabbed her behind the knee. Pulling her leg up, he dragged it over the hardness it found there.

The movement pulled her hips against him, and she sucked in a silent gasp as the sensitive parts of her rubbed against his leg. Pari pulled away and then moved to sit up beside him. They looked at each other, and then she grabbed the hem of her shirt as his hands pushed it up, and she pulled it over her head. Din’s hands came down over her shoulders and squeezed. Looking at her, he tucked a piece of hair behind her ear, telling her, “So beautiful.”

Smiling down at him, Pari reached behind and released the clasp on her bra. It became loose and he slid the straps off her shoulders. The garment tumbled down her arms and his fingers trailed after it, pulling it off her.

She expected his hands to move back up her arms and find her chest, but they dropped down to her hips. He squeezed once and then hooked his thumbs under the string of elastic to her panties. Drawing one back, he let the band snap back into place, and she gasped on a laugh, declaring, _“Ow!”_

He chuckled, and flashing him a wide grin, she flicked his shoulder. “That wasn’t very nice.”

“Then take them off.”

Pushing down the waistband, she got to her knees, cautioning, “You should be nicer, you know.”

Hands rising to grip her hips, he stabilized her where she knelt beside him as she worked her panties down past her knees, “Why is that?”

Pushing the blankets down, her hands came down on the pillow on either side of his helmet as she swung one leg over his hips and straddled him. “Because, Din,” her hips sunk lower, closer to his, and his thumbs dug into her hip bones as she purred, “With those broken ribs of yours, you’re kind of at my mercy.” Leaning down, she sucked on the side of his neck, muttering, “You’re just going to have to lie there and take it.”

His hands shot from her hips to cup both her breasts, and she moaned softly against his neck. Moving back, Pari sat on him, just below his groin, and reached down. Her hand closed around him, and she found him warm, and soft, and thick, and so damn hard for her.

Her thumb stroked over the tip, smearing the slick precum that leaked, and did she mention how freaking _soft_ he felt? Clenching her hand around him, she found out made his hips buck beneath her. His hands gripped her knees resting at his sides as his head pressed back against the pillows with a soft groan.

Scooting forward, Pari held his length against her clit, and her head fell forward from the pleasure of his warmth soaking into her. Bringing her hands to his shoulders, she gripped him as she slid herself over him. The movement pulled a mutual sound of bliss from them both, and his hands moved back to her breasts, kneading them and stroking his thumbs over her nipples as she scooted back a little, and then dragged her throbbing warmth over him again.

His hips pushed up against her, and she breathed out a gasp. Leaning down, she kissed along his collarbone as she arched her hips, moving slowly against him, each time bringing him closer to slipping inside of her.

His tip flirted with her entrance, and his hands grabbed her hips, stilling her movements. Raising up, Pari looked into his visor, and he said, “Two things before we do this.”

“Okay,” she responded, unable to keep herself from pushing down over him just a little, and his grip turned just shy of painful as he stopped her.

“Wait. Are you… should we, um…”

Pari grinned, “It’s okay, Din. I got it covered.”

“So, you’re…”

“I have an implant, yes.”

“Okay. It’s just because… if something happened—”

“I know.”

“If you, if we… and I wasn’t here to—”

“Din,” she drew a finger along his collarbone, down his chest and squeezed, murmuring, “I hear you. It’s okay. I promise.” Pari sank down around him just a little, forcing him back outside of his head.

He grunted, and that crushing grip on her hips resumed, stopping her movement. The tip of him had barely pushed past the threshold and being forced to stay in that exact position was a delicious kind of torture.

Moaning his name, Pari pleaded with him to release her, and he ignored the request. “You should know that it’s been… a while for me, Pari.” She could hear the grin as he said, “Probably not going to be able to last very long.”

“Um, hello?” she laughed, waving at him from above, “Over three years over here, so I’m right there with ya, big guy.”

Din chuckled and then released the force keeping her from moving. His grip eased back to just cradling her, and she finally lowered herself over every blessed inch of him. The sound of pleasure that movement dragged out from them both filled the room. For a moment, she just stayed like that—sitting on him, feeling him fill her, forcing her walls to stretch around him.

Dragging her hands back to his chest, her hands squeezed as his thumbs stroke along her hips, and she started to move. He groaned, and she felt a sharp twitch within her. The sound of his pleasure carried out on his voice, mixed with the warmth of him inside of her. It ignited a swirling fire in her lower belly, and she knew she didn’t have very long before that fire exploded, consuming her.

The feeling appeared to be mutual, because then he was gripping her hips again, uttering, “Stop—don’t move, don’t move.” He was pulsing inside of her, and a slightly strained breath filtered past his helmet as he worked to keep himself from tumbling over the edge.

Pari tried to comply, but he felt too good, the sensation too intense, and she couldn’t resist it as it urged her to press down against him the slightest bit. Din gasped, and then groaned through a laugh, warning, _“Fuck,_ I’m so close—don’t move, just give me a second.”

Grinning down at him, she said, “You make that fairly impossible, Din; you know that?”

Looking up at her, his hands came back to her chest, asking, “Yeah?” Laying her hands over top of his, she felt them move under her touch, squeezing and rubbing her so tenderly as he held her breasts.

Arching back, she hummed, “So much, yes.”

She kept their pace slow as she reached behind and drew up his good leg behind her. With a hand gripping behind his knee, she leaned back against his thigh and rocked her hips forward. His hand landed where their bodies met, and his thumb pressed against her clit.

The sensation shot a bolt of electric pleasure straight through her, and she cried out. Gripping his wrist, her other hand clamped down where she held his leg, and she panted, “Holy fuck, Din. Hold on.”

He snickered as the tables flipped on them. To his credit, he waited until she rocked forward again before he lightened his touch to just feather over the sensitive spot. Touching his hand, she ran her fingers up his arm to his shoulder, saying, “Din, The Mandalorian. In my bed… inside of _me_.”

He groaned and arched, his hips jerking upward. Din’s other hand came around and found her ass. He gave it a firm squeeze, and she looked down at him, “Tell me something, Mr. Mandalorian.”

“What do you want to know?”

“Do you have a surname?”

“Yes,” he groaned in reply, and then he gave it to her.

Bringing her other hand to his opposite shoulder, she spread her weight down over his good side. His hands roamed over her back and then fell back down to her bottom. She felt him squeeze, drawing her up over him, and she raised her hips, then let them drop over him again. His helmet turned against the side of her face, and she nuzzled into his neck, asking, “Is it spelled the way it sounds?”

“I guess that depends—” he cut off with a gasp as she sucked on his Adam’s apple. ”—depends on what language you’re speaking.”

Her hips rose and slid back against him, “Spell it for me.”

The hands on her ass moved up and buried themselves in her hair, and he told her, “D J A R I N.”

Rolling her hips, she felt his push up against hers, and she told him, “That’s pretty hot. You know that?”

His helmet turned toward her. Leaning back to look into his visor, she could hear the smile in his voice as he replied, “What? The spelling of my name?”

 _“Stars,_ yes. I can’t explain it but trust me on this.” Kissing his throat again, she nudged her nose under his helmet, and he complied with her silent request by tilting his head to the side. He moaned deep and lustful when her tongue trailed below his jaw, just under the lip of steel, and she said, “ _So_ hot.”

Her hips rose and then fell back against him. “Din Djarin,” she purred, and he growled. Smiling against his neck, she mewled, “Fuck me, Din Djarin.”

Growling deeper, his hands gripped her hips again in warning, “You keep talking like that, and you’ll make me cum right now.”

She hummed against his collarbone, “I could make you cum all night long.”

 _“Stars, Pari,”_ he grunted. _“Shut—up.”_

Ducking her head, she laughed into his shoulder.

~~

Grit from the city crunched under the sole of Rherr’s boot as he stepped up onto the damp sidewalk outside of the bar. It was where his intel told him he’d find Jett.

The establishment’s owner was just closing up for the night as Rherr approached the transparent door. The lock slid into place as his gloved hand landed on the handle. “Sorry, mate,” spoke the owner from the other side. “Closing time.”

Rherr tried the diplomatic approach, asking, “Just one quick drink. I’ll be in and out.”

The owner shook his head, “And I’ll get fined for serving past legal hours. Sorry, no.”

“Just one shot?” He looked around at the empty streets, “Who’s going to notice to report you?”

The owner flashed him a grin, “Right. I bend the rules for you, and then next week, there will be a line down the street and around the corner, demanding their ‘just one shot.’ Go down a couple of streets and hit the all-night liquor store.”

Reaching up, the man started to drop the shades on the other side of the door, and Rherr decided the opportunity for diplomacy had passed. Pulling his blaster, he held the muzzle to the glass. The shades halted. The owner’s eyes went wide, and he began to turn to look at the room behind him.

Tapping the glass door with the blaster had him turning back, and Rherr shook his head at the man. Pointing at the latch, he ordered, “Unlock the door and step outside.”

The man on the other side shook his head vehemently. Hand gripping the bar along the transparent door, he eyed the blaster like if he concentrated hard enough, one bolt from the firearm _wouldn’t_ cause the door to explode in a rain of shattered glass. The way his eyes kept skipping between the muzzle pressed to the glass and Rherr’s helmet, told the Mandalorian the owner knew he was screwed.

Pulling the blaster back, Rherr tipped it toward the sky. “Relax. I’m not here for you. Don’t make me go through you to get to the one I _am_ here for.” The owner nodded slowly, and Rherr told him again, “Unlock the door and step outside.”

“Okay.” Nodding faster, the owner swallowed, “Okay.”

“Quietly.”

“Yeah, okay.” The latch slid back with a click, and then the man slipped out the door, repeating, “Okay.”

Pulling him out of sight from whoever was still inside, Rherr’s hand landed on his shoulder, “Relax.” The vigorous nodding resumed, but it wasn’t until he holstered the blaster that the guy actually calmed.

“I’m not here for you,” Rherr began again. “Jett Qesh. Is he inside?”

The man pulled a bar towel off his shoulder and began wiping his hands. Nodding, he said, “Yeah. Him and a couple of others.”

“A Chiss and a Lasat missing an eye?”

“Yeah.”

Rherr nodded, then pointed out, “Thought it was closing time.”

His comment was received with a bitter laugh. “Rules don’t seem to apply to Jett.”

“Why don’t you alert the local authorities?”

Throwing the towel back over his shoulder, the owner grunted at him, “Did a couple of times in the past. Got to be too much trouble dealing with the aftermath. Just easier to let him lock up when he’s ready. The guy usually leaves enough credits on the bar to cover what they consume, and the bar’s always locked up so…”

 _“Usually_ leaves enough credits.”

The other man shrugged, “It’s easier this way. I’ve got enough shit to deal with at home without adding Jett’s drama to my stress levels.”

Rherr sighed at the weariness in his statement. The man was tired, and Jett was taking advantage. The picture his mind’s eye kept compiling of the scumbag was not a flattering one. However, he wasn’t here to deal with _this_ Jett issue. He was here for a different one.

Looking toward the bar’s front door, Rherr pulled out a card from his belt. Handing it over, he told the owner, “Leave. Go home. I’ll lock up when I’m finished. Tomorrow, call in any damages to the base using this number. Give them my service code. It’s written on the back of the card, and you’ll be reimbursed for the cost of labor and material from necessary repairs.”

Accepting the card, the owner winced up at him, beseeching, “Don’t destroy the place, mate.”

“I don’t intend to,” Rherr told him, stepping past. Reaching for the door, he said, “It all depends on the other guy,” and as he stepped inside, he could hear a groan from the owner before the door closed behind him.

Rherr was halfway past the bar before a voice from the back of the long room called out, “Hey! Look who it is!”

The three playing pool walked around the table toward him, and the one missing an eye added, “It’s that Mandalorian from Pari’s place.”

“Nah.” The only other human in the room dismissed, saying, “Similar build, but this guy’s a hair taller.”

“Yeah,” the Chiss, threw in his worthless two cents. “And his armor is different too.”

Jett nodded. A pool table separated them as he said, “What do you want, Mando? Bar’s closed.”

“Yes. It is.”

“So, beat it.”

Rherr’s helmet tilted, “Shouldn’t you also?” Leaning against the table, he took a relaxed stance, helpfully pointing out, “Bar’s closed.”

“Not that it’s anything to you, but I’ve got an arrangement with the owner.”

“That so?”

“Yeah.”

Eying the two humanoids starting to flank the pool table, Rherr’s visor remained fixed on Jett as he asked, “So, is this a thing for you?” Jett shot him a quizzical glare, and Rherr elaborated, “The whole—making up relationships thing.”

Jett took a step around the table toward him, “The fuck you talking about, tin can?”

“Pari Strart.”

“Ah!” One-eye yelled, “I knew he had something to do with that chick.”

Sparing his guy a glance, Jett stopped where he was. “What about her?”

“Nothing much. I’m just here to let you know that as of right now, you will forget about her. She’s off your radar. You see her in town, you don’t so much as glance her way, and you sure as hell don’t show up on her property ever again.”

Jett threw his head back, barking out a rich laugh. “Says who; y _ou?”_

“Says me,” confirmed Rherr.

“And, how you going to enforce those rules, boss?”

“I assure you; it won’t take much.”

“Oh yeah?”

There was a movement from his right, and Rherr’s hand shot out, catching the white cue ball one-eye hurled at him. A sharp snap sang out as the leather of his glove absorbed the force. His arm rotated forward, sending the ball sailing back through the air, hitting One-eye square in the forehead. He dropped like a stone.

The Chiss rushed him, and Rherr ducked. Spinning under the punch, the Mandalorian hooked an arm around the guy’s waist, letting his momentum take him off his feet. Rherr flipped him, slamming him face-first onto the pool table beside them.

His visor turned to where Jett stood. Marching forward, Rherr closed in on him, and the man backpedaled, warning, “Stop right there before I drive this cue stick straight into you.” Rherr kept walking, and Jett doubled his backstep, “I said, stop.”

They were almost past the last table, closing in on the back wall when Jett swung the cue stick hard. It came at him in a downward arc. Catching it, Rherr ripped it from the man’s hands and smashed the other end against the edge of the closest table. The stick snapped into two. Broken end missiling toward him, Rherr snatched it from the air.

Jett was still stumbling backward, but his back hit the wall behind him, and Rherr drove the speared end of the cue stick into the wall an inch from his face.

The man’s eyes squeeze shut in anticipation as a small whimper escaped his mouth. When nothing happened, his eyes cracked open, and Rherr was standing so close, the guy’s head hit the wall as he tried pressing back.

Jett’s eyes flick to find his backup, but they were silent, and Rherr knew without looking that they wouldn’t be waking up for a while.

Speaking low, Rherr said, “I’m going to tell you only one more time. It’s the _only_ warning you are going to get before I take it to the next level. Trust me. You do not want me to take it to the next level. Are you listening, Jett?”

Sweat trickled down the man’s face as he nodded, trying to swallow.

“Back. Off.”

“Look, dude…” Jett found his voice, but the quiver in it betrayed any attempt he might have had to sound tough. “Is she your girl?”

“No.”

“Then what the hell is your problem?”

“You, Jett. You are my problem.”

“I don’t even know you, man!”

“No, but you insulted and threatened a brother-in-arms. On top of that, you’re a fucking stalker. Pari’s my sister. I’ve been made aware of your advances. They’re unwanted, and they stop now.”

A sloppy smile cracked on the man’s face. “You ain’t her brother, pal. Pari’s an only child.”

Rherr growled, “Junn Strart was my _brother_ . Pari was taken in by the Tribe. She is recognized as my clan—my _sister_ . She and her family are under my protection, and I’m telling you,” Rherr’s other hand appeared from behind his back and Jett’s trail camera smashed against the wall by his head. “One more unwanted move on your behalf, _Jett_ , and I’ll be back.” Shifting closer, caused the man’s hot, rapid breaths to fog the bottom of his visor, and Rherr said, “I might not leave you dead, but I guarantee, you’ll be begging for it before I even finish.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was my first time writing a smutty love scene. I am sure I used the words 'hand' and 'hips' way too often. I hope it turned out okay. I thoroughly enjoyed finally getting these two together. I hope you liked it also. If you have any constructive tips or suggestions on how I could have written it better, please let me know.


	12. Having You Next to Me

* * *

It was the sound of a commotion that grabbed Din by the ankle and dragged him out of the best sleep he’d had in a long time. Eyes snapping open, he looked through his visor at the sunbeams streaming in the windows. Switching from sleep to action was nothing new to Din; it had been hardwired into his system decades ago and put into practice many times since.

Pushing himself up on the mattress, the Mandalorian’s breath slowed out of instinct, enabling him to focus on what he was hearing. Somewhere outside there was shouting, a lot of it. Looking toward the windows, he saw his clothes from last night folded in a neat stack at the end of the bed. Din winced as he reached out and dragged the pile over to himself while listening and trying to figure out what was going on outside.

The first thing his mind tuned into was Pari’s voice. Something was wrong. She was shouting and upset. Pushing himself out of bed, Din’s mind skipped to a different thought: Wasn’t Rherr supposed to talk to Jett last night? Was he here giving her a hard time over that?

Getting dressed quickly under fire was something Din had plenty of practice with and, hiking his pants up, he let them hang from his hips as he pulled on his shirt and peered out the window. In the seconds it took him to determine no new vehicles were in her driveway, the shirt had been tucked in and his pants fastened.

No new vehicles didn’t necessarily mean anything.

Pari’s voice hollered again, raw and angry, and he shoved his feet into his boots at the sound of slamming doors. Ignoring the pain in his middle that sparked from moving too quickly, he threw on his weapons belt. Pulling on his gloves as he crossed the floor, Din found his leg had stiffened up while he slept, turning his gait into a sort of hobbling jog-step as he went for the door.

Stumbling out into the living room, the house was silent. Hand going to where his blaster wasn’t strapped to his thigh made him curse. He didn’t initially call for Pari, unsure of what might be going on. If there were intruders, his best bet would be to keep his presence unknown.

Din walked with silent steps into the kitchen. All the lights were on, but there was no evidence anyone was using it. He was turning to head out the back door when Pari stormed in the front.

She looked pissed but unharmed. He didn’t hear any vehicles driving away, so he doubted it had anything to do with Jett. If Jett had been there, he was sure Pari would have said something by now. Clearly, the issue had been handled, and now just the aftermath of irritation remained. He wanted to ask if everything was alright, but the look she gave him as she walked past made clear the space she needed.

Pressing a hand to his side, Din leaned against the wall by the light switch and observed how Pari stalked around the kitchen. Every action held a tinge of hostility as she took her anger out on the unsuspecting objects around her.

Dishes were thrown in the washer, and others stacked on the counter. Her face stormy, she did a quick scrub down of the counters and then yanked the coffee pot out from the little nook on the counter. Flinging the used grounds into the trash, Pari shoved in a new filter and then started dumping in spoonfuls of fresh grounds.

Just by being in the same room with her, he could feel the anger rolling off her shoulders. It was ripe and aggressive. Even the large black and white canine who usually stuck close to her side knew not to approach.

Din looked down at Riley as he slinked over toward him, sitting down close enough that his side brushed against his leg. The dog looked up. Mandalorian and canine looked at each other for a moment, and then Din gave it a half shrug. He was just as clueless as the animal.

“I’m sorry I woke you,” Pari finally spoke as she scrubbed something off in the sink. Her tone was still weighed down by whatever had transpired, but now it just sounded weary more than anything else.

“You didn’t,” he lied. The sideways glance he received told him she wasn’t buying it, but that’s as far as it went. It also told him her temper had lowered to a simmer, and it felt safe to ask, “What happened?”

Her response was a short huff of a sigh as she continued her work at the sink. Shaking her head, she muttered, “Stupid animals.”

“The animals?” Din asked, looking down at the dog leaning against his leg. Riley looked back at him like he still didn’t have a clue.

Gesturing toward the windows, Pari said, “Farleks.”

“Farleks?”

“Yeah, about three feet high, green, scaly plates, wide heads, carnivores…”

“I know what Farleks are; they’re twice as big in my galaxy.”

“Well, a few got into one of my outdoor pens. I almost lost a mama goat and all her kids. As it is, they got one before I—” Cutting off with a gasp, utensils fell from her hand and clattered against the bottom of the sink. Cursing, she flipped the faucet to cold and stuck her hand under the running water.

Din pushed himself off the wall and went to her.

“It’s fine…” Pari muttered as he reached into the stream of water. Pulling her hand out, he went to look at it, and she pulled back.

“Wait,” Din told her, holding fast to her wrist.

Tugging away, she snapped, “I said it’s fine!”

“Would you _stop.”_ His voice rumbled, deep and sharp as his grip held firm. Pari looked up at him, and her struggles died away. Leaning in, he spoke softer, “Just, stop for one minute. Okay?”

Closing her eyes, Pari heaved an annoyed sigh as her hip jutted out to lean against the sink.

Pulling her hand toward him again, Din looked at the long, ragged gash on the back. Pari hissed as he rotated it, tracking its length to the base of her thumb and past the inside of her wrist. It was bleeding freely, but not enough to be overly concerning.

Turning to the sink, he ducked her hand back under the running water. He held it there, asking, “How did you do this?”

She sighed, “Chasing off the Farleks. Caught it on the barbed fence.”

He looked at her, “You went after predatory animals, alone and unarmed?”

She shrugged, “They’re afraid of humans. They didn’t want me, just the kids.”

“That was a foolish move. You could have been harmed.”

_“Foolish?”_

Scoffing at him, Pari yanked her hand from his loose grip and nailed him with a hurtful glare, “Excuse me for not wearing weapons on my person at all times. I didn’t have time to grab the shotgun. My client’s livestock is entrusted under my care, and they were being attacked.

“Foolish would have been letting them get away with all the kids. As it is, I’m going to have to pay out to my client for damages. I never used to have to worry about things like this. I’m not good at it—the killing. Junn used to always…” She broke off and then looked up at him with frustration shining in her eyes. “Now, that’s my job.”

Din sighed and turned off the water. Reaching behind the faucet, he plucked a clean hand towel from the basket on the countertop and went to wrap it around the wound.

She shrank back, saying, “Not that one.” He looked at her, and she shrugged, “I like it, and blood stains.”

Putting it back, he selected a different one and held it up.

She acquiesced.

Din was careful as he wrapped it around the wound. Bringing her hand to her chest, he began to lead her to the table, and she turned back, grumbling, “I need coffee.”

He grabbed her by the shoulders and steered her back around, telling her, “I’ll get it,” and ushered her toward the table. Din dragged back a chair, and, shooting him a restrained pout, Pari plopped down into it. Thankful that she couldn’t see the smirk behind his visor, he pointed at her, ordering, “Stay.”

She leaned back with a huff and held her arm to her chest but remained seated.

Making the walk from the table to the coffee maker was better than when he’d first sprung out of bed, but his leg was still stiff. Giving in to the annoying limp that insisted on hanging around, Din couldn’t help thinking about how much he missed bacta.

Din opened the cabinet door and reached for a mug, but then stopped and grabbed a different one from the back of the upper shelf that had the word _Kriff_ listed in four different languages.

Filling the mug with coffee, he replaced the pot and added the cream like he’d noticed her do many times over the past ten days. Carrying it back to the table, Din set the cup down in front of her, turning it purposely so she would notice the words.

A snort of laughter bubbled out, and Pari looked up at him, already seeming calmer just by having the warm mug in her hands. “Very fitting for this morning. Thank you,” she told him and took a drink.

He nodded, asking, “Where do you keep the medkit?”

She gestured over her shoulder, “Cabinet in the refresher.”

When Din came back to the kitchen, he found her with an elbow on the table and her forehead buried in her good palm. The injured arm lay across her lap.

Pari has patched him back together, stayed up half the night trying to ease his pain, organized meetings with the professor and Rherr, ran her practice, took care of Sash, dealt with Jett, and this was the first time in ten days that he’s seen her look worn out and drained.

Pulling over a chair, Din sat close enough to be able to work on the wound efficiently and tossed his gloves on the table. Their knees touched as he scooted forward, pulling her arm toward himself. He peeled back the towel to peek at the gash, and then covered it again.

Holding light pressure over the wound, Din’s helmet tilted toward the cup in her other hand, “I was a little surprised to find that in your cabinet.” She looked at him from over the brim of the cup, and he told her, “Where I’m from, it’s an old saying. You hardly hear anyone use it anymore.”

“That’s what gives it its charm.” Pari grinned. Then, her smile widened, and a faint blush crept across her cheeks as she told him, “You said a similar word last night; many times.”

Din looked at her and smirked, “That I did.”

Peeling back the towel again, he turned Pari’s arm in his hands. The bleeding had mostly stopped, but the wound looked painful. Touching near the laceration confirmed this as she jerked, pulling back with an involuntary motion.

Quick reflexes had him catching a safe area on her wrist, and his eyes skipped up to hers. “Sorry.”

Pari shook her head, “It’s just irritated and sore.”

“I have something for that.”

She sipped her coffee, watching him as he pulled a small tin from the side of his belt. Opening it, Din said, “It doesn’t smell great, but it’s effective against pain and infection.”

Dipping his finger into the salve, he held her arm and spread the ointment on with a careful touch.

She wrinkled her nose at the strong odor, but he felt the tension in her arm relax as the pain started to recede.

Looking at him, she inquired, “You keep that on your belt, not in a medkit somewhere?”

“Yes.”

She was quiet, and then probed, “Need that often, do you?”

It was the shift in tone from sulking to light-hearted that had Din glancing up. The feisty grin that greeted him made the jab in her question unmistakable. To which, he countered, _“No_. It’s just a good idea when you wear a flame thrower on your arm.”

~~

If Din were to try and think back, he probably wouldn’t be able to nail down the exact moment when things had gone from him tending to Pari’s arm, to the two of them leaving a trail of clothes that started at her kitchen table and ended at the foot of her bed.

Propped by the elbow on his good side, he pushed inside of Pari. Each motion drew a stabbing feeling from his mending ribs, but it was worth it as he looked at the woman beneath him.

Last night had been incredible—twice.

The first time had passed quicker than either of them had wanted. That tends to happen when both participants have been without the right kind of intimacy for too long. As brief as it had been, there was something comforting in how they had tried to make it last as long as possible, both climaxing within seconds of each other.

Coming down from the high afterward was almost as good as the sex that preceded it. Din had taken her into his arms as she dropped down over him. Laying her head on his shoulder, Pari’s body had splayed over his left side as her head nuzzled just under his helmet.

They had laid like that, quiet, catching their breath as her fingertips traced imaginary lines over his chest. Her touch was soft and delicate. Her skin, warm and smooth under the hands he roamed over her arm and the small of her back. She had smelled like a mix of rain, fresh cedarwood, and something slightly sweet. All of it had been an intoxicating mix of sensations, which had revved him up for round two. 

Where their first time was driven by excitement and longing, their second had been passionate and intense. Feelings of uncertainty and nervousness were extinguished by their first go, and, rolling into the next one, they both seemed to be chasing after one another.

Touches, eager and confident, had passed between them, exploring and bringing them to a new level. The more he felt along her planes and curves, the more her body had come alive under his touch, and dipping a hand below her navel, she had responded with the sweetest moan.

Rolling onto her side, Pari had pressed her lips to his shoulder, collarbone, and neck as she sought him out. Her hand closed around him—her hold irresistibly snug, and he had pushed through her grip as his fingers sunk into her heated core.

Pari had arched back with a muffled cry, and he watched her, marveling at the slick wetness, knowing it was all for him. Flicking her thumb over the tip had made his hips buck right before he clamped down two fingers inside of her, pressing his thumb to the delicate, little bump of her clit. Pari had responded by pulling her hand over him, squeezing, as her hips rocked forward, driving herself deeper around his touch.

He’d made her cum like that. Face pressed into his shoulder, she had bit down as she rode it out, her gripping hand spasming and twisting around his hardness as her inner walls clenched around his fingers. It had been a miracle he had been able to hold off, and after she’d finished, he had grabbed her, lifting her over top of himself.

She had slid around him, lowering and taking in every inch of him. Still coming down from her orgasm, she had looked down drunkenly at him. Hair framing her face, glazed-over euphoria slipped headlong into seductive mischief. Leaving him no time to process, she had rolled her hips against him while reaching back and grabbing his package. That had ended him, and the climax that ripped open had left him slightly lightheaded. It began somewhere deep as it powered through, exploding within him, and stripping him of all control as it hauled out a rough, shouting groan.

Now, as Din moved inside her again, their movements were in sync as the morning’s chaotic events had simmered down to soft voices and tender touches. Content to soak up a moment where the world seemed to slow down just for them, neither was in a rush to reach the finish line.

Just as he’d been doing since they stumbled into the bedroom a while back, Din pushed into her again, slowly, watching her as he felt every bit of her silky warmth surrounding him. He began to drawback, and her tightness clenched down around him as he moved. The sensation forced his eyes to close as his helm dropped down to her shoulder with a soft exhale. Pari’s hips pushed up against his, forcing him to plunge deep within her, and he turned into the side of her neck with a soft growl.

Scraping her nails up his back, she snickered, “Liked that, did you?”

Keeping himself pressed deep within her, Din rose up and looked at her, “I don’t know; maybe you should try it again to make sure.”

She turned her face into his neck, and he could feel her grin. Lips brushing against his skin, she told him, “I can’t do much with you buried to the hilt inside me.”

“So, what you’re saying, is—” he drew back and then pushed in, bringing a soft gasp from below, “—you’re not in control of the situation right now.”

Pari’s head tilted, and the tip of her tongue ran over his Adam’s apple. He pulled back and shot in again, and her voice skipped as she replied, “Guess not.”

Leaning back a little, he looked at her for a moment.

Pari smiled, “What?”

Running his hand over her shoulder, he stroked it with his thumb, saying, “You’re used to controlling the situation, aren’t you?”

She cocked her head at that, “I’ve had to. It’s just Sash and me, and I don’t have much choice in it.” Her hips rolled against him, and she draped a leg over the back of his knee.

Thrusting against her, Din studied her face and her words. His hand trailed down the side of her neck to her chest, and then it closed around the fullness of her breast. Running his thumb over the nipple, he twitched from deep inside her. It drew a soft moan from her lips, and he ventured a guess, “You don’t like having to control the situation.”

She hummed as her hand journeyed from his back and passed over his side. It flirted closely with his damaged ribs and then roamed over his chest. Hooking her leg higher, she used him as leverage and forced him further inside. It blasted him with a dose of warmth and encompassing pleasure, and he squeezed her breast in his hand.

Arching back under his touch, she smiled up at him, “I don’t mind controlling some of the things around here. Like my practice, I just…”

He looked down at her, “You just don’t like it all put on your shoulders.”

“Yeah.”

Pulling back, he moved inside her again, “You want to let some of it go.”

“Yes.”

Din moved his arm to snake it behind her neck. Scooting a little higher over her, he pulled Pari close. She pressed her face against his chest, and he could feel her warm breath on his skin as he picked up the pace.

Pushing into her a little harder, Din ignored the pain that flared in his side, saying, “Then, let some of it go. Right now.” She moaned against him, and he drove in again, harder, murmuring, “With me.”

Pari gasped his name, and her hands grabbed his ass, thrusting him against her.

Din touched his helmet to her forehead as he plunged into her, hard, fast, and just a little bit erratic in rhythm. If she tried to move with him, he’d thrust hard enough to pin her hips down against the bed. It stopped her from moving. It made her pant and gasp, and her nails dragged up his back again.

The sounds he drew from her were needy and a little bit raw. They lit a fire somewhere inside himself. Holding her close, Din felt her chest press against his as she took in quick, shuddering breaths. Her hands slipped back down over him, and she clenched down, whimpering beneath him.

He started losing control over his movements as the sound and feel of her pleasure swarmed inside his head. Mixing with his own, it shot down into a place where he was buried deep inside her. He slammed into her and, tipping her head back over his arm, she yelled his name. He did it again, and Pari sucked in a breath, shouting for him still before her voice cracked and her face pulled beautifully tight over a throaty groan.

He pressed a little further into her, and Pari draped her leg over his hip, tilted her pelvis up, and then he was done for. Pushing down against her, he groaned into her shoulder as he throbbed and pulsed inside of her. Her arms wound around his sides, holding him as he shuddered through the last of his release.

Slumping down on top of Pari, his breaths were heavy as he pressed his visor to her shoulder. A light touch traveled up his back, around the curve of his shoulder blade, and through the dampness on his neck. He nudged his head into the crook of her shoulder, and her fingertips dipped just under the back of his helmet. Like last night, she trapped the ends of his hair before giving a gentle tug.

The slight stimulation combined with the pleasure thrumming through his veins was enough to force a hard shiver to roll through him, and her hand came down over the back of his neck and squeezed. Nudging against her again, he took a deep breath of her soft scent and tipped off her, breathing out a grunt as he collapsed onto his good side.

Turning also, Pari faced him and smiled at him. A part of him wished she could see him smiling back. Improvising, Din cupped the back of her jaw and stroked his thumb lightly over her flushed cheek. Her eyes closed at his touch, and then she was taking his other hand. Holding it in both of hers, Pari brought it to her mouth. Her gaze locked onto his visor as she kissed the palm.

Curling her fingers into his, Din grazed over the bandage he’d wrapped around the laceration on her hand. Holding it up a little, he asked, “How’s this doing?”

Her thumb stroked over his, and she nuzzled into her pillow, “A lot better. That salve you used is pretty awesome.”

“Good.”

She used the same grazing touch as him to ghost over his damaged side, “How about you? I’m sure after only ten days post-injury, your ribs didn’t like that position very much.”

“Not entirely, but the pros more than outweighed the cons.”

She grinned and hummed at that. Looking at her, Din confessed, “I kept expecting you to try and argue me onto my back.”

Pari gave him a lazy shrug, “Didn’t you tell me I should trust you to know your limits?”

That made him smile, and it occurred to him that he had been doing a lot more of that recently. Pulling her closer, he agreed, “I did.”

Laying there, listening to her calm breaths, the birds outside her window, and the occasional vehicle driving down her dirt road, Din felt himself hovering close to relaxation. It was such a foreign sensation for him. He didn’t know if he liked it or not. Part of him relished the way his system was winding down, almost telling him that he has needed this after years of stress, fighting, and, well, stress. It was like a part of him was depleted, and by laying in the quiet of the house, with Pari’s soft warmth huddled against him, his mind had finally found what it needed to be restored.

Then, there was another part of him that he knew would never allow himself to dip any deeper into the kind of stillness he knew he could find in her presence. He couldn’t allow his guard to fall, to become soft, or any less vigilant of his surroundings as he’d already risked letting himself drift to.

A voice whispered to him, stressing the need for caution because, if he made it back, if he and Pari became deeply involved down the line, Din knew that the healing peace he felt from her might be too much to resist. He would have to figure out a way to accept that peace but still remain true to his core, the warrior that defined who he is and where he has come from. 

Her hand touched the side of his neck, and she whispered, “You asleep?”

Opening his eyes, he tipped his head down toward hers. “No.”

Looking at him, Pari’s fingers trailed up his arm and circled his shoulder. Squeezing, she drew her hand down to his chest, saying, “The professor is going to have your coordinates ready in a few days.” She looked hard into his visor, and then her eyes dropped down, “I don’t like how difficult it’s becoming for me to think about seeing you off.”

His thumb stroked over the fingers he still held in his grasp, “I know.”

She was looking down as she asked, “Last night, you said you would like to come back.”

“Yes.”

“Have you made up your mind, or are you still weighing the odds?”

Din took her by the chin and tilted her face up toward his. She didn’t look at him. 

“Pari.” There was a sigh, and then her eyes raised to meet his. Looking at her, he told her, “I’m coming back.”

She smiled, then it faltered, as she pointed out, “The return coordinates aren’t a guarantee.”

Din pulled her back to himself. Wrapping his arms around her, Din’s fingers moved through the soft strands of her hair, “No. They’re not.” He thought for a moment, then, “You said this professor of the stars,” he pulled back to look at her. “You said he’s good. Right?”

A proud grin spread across her face as she declared, “Professor Clayton, he’s the best there is in the star system, and that’s not just me being biased.”

“Well,” Din pulled her close again, “then maybe there isn’t as much to worry about as it might seem.”

Her arm slinked past his waist and dropped over his hip. She was quiet as she stroked along his lower back, and then she asked, “What do you think is the first thing you’ll do when you get back—aside from reuniting with your foundling, of course.”

“Aside from preparing for the return trip back here?”

Laying on his arm, keeping it trapped beneath her head, she turned into it and kissed his bicep, “Yes. Aside from that.”

He thought, then said, “Probably try to scare up some bacta.”

Pari pulled back a little. He looked down at her as she asked, “What is bacta? You asked about it that first night in my exam room.”

Remembering their odd conversation made him smirk, and he said, “I couldn’t tell you what it’s made of, but it’s thick, gelatinous-like, or there are also sprays and infusions. It has some sort of beneficial bacteria that helps the body to heal faster.”

“How much faster?”

“It varies, depending on the wound and the health of the person.” He glanced down at her, “If we had it that first night, my leg would have been healed by now.”

Her jaw dropped open, “That’s… that’s like cheating.”

Din laughed, “Believe it or not, there are some people over in my galaxy who would agree with you.”

“Really?”

He nodded. “Yeah, bacta, it can be strange.” Din paused, thinking, then said, “It’s like—it almost feels… Damn, it’s hard to put into words.” Looking down, he tried again, “Depending on how much you need, it can almost feel—alive.”

She pulled back _, “Alive?”_

He sighed, shaking his head, “That’s probably not a good description.” He thought again, then said, “I had a friend who fell during battle. She was victim to a wall of fire that left her with burns to over sixty-five percent of her body—”

_“Stars…”_

“—the medic droids, they immersed her in a bacta tank, it took three treatments until she healed enough to be aware of what was going on. They were getting her ready for the fourth dip, and she started getting anxious, telling them toward the end of her last treatment, she could feel it working on her, invading her as it mended her. She swore she could feel her nerves knitting back together, and her skin cells regenerating. It was too much. They had to sedate her throughout her remaining treatments.”

Pari laid there, gaping at him. Finally, she said, “I can’t even wrap my head around how it works. I mean, I understand beneficial bacteria, and I can theorize the possibility of a type of bacteria that could work with the human body and accelerate its healing abilities…” She trailed off, and Din could practically see the formulas sketching through her mind as she worked out the scientific layout of what he was describing.

Looking back, she asked, “Your friend, did she heal completely?”

“Not a hundred percent, no, but enough to where her range of motion wasn’t compromised the slightest. She ended up with a few scars, but according to her, all but a couple were faint and barely noticeable.”

“Damn… that’s freaking astounding. I wish we had it over here.” She got quiet. Her fingers roamed over his chest, and then she asked, “So, you’re not used to dealing with injuries for the duration?” She looked up at him, “These that you have now must be driving you crazy.”

He gave her a shrug, “Yes, and no. Bacta is expensive, and it can be hard to find. I don’t always have it on hand—like now. If I did, I would have asked you to get it from the ship that first night.”

Pari nodded and nuzzled against his chest. Running his fingers through her hair, Din closed his eyes and thought about how good she felt in his arms. How good it felt to have her hand roaming over his back and hip with her lazy strokes. Teetering on that precarious ledge of relaxation, Din let her warmth pull him, urging him toward drifting—

“Can I ask you a question?”

He didn’t bother opening his eyes as he answered, “Sure.”

“It’s kind of morbid.”

“…okay.”

“And personal.”

“Alright.”

“And—"

“Pari.” She looked up at him, and he looked back. Tucking a piece of hair behind her ear, he told her, “Just ask the question.”

Din watched her brow pull together and pinch as she hesitated. She bit her lip, and then her voice was uncharacteristically timid as she asked, “Have you ever been in a position where you were injured and… you might not have made it if weren’t for the bacta?”

He had enough time to think back to Nevarro, and if he had to guess, it was the lack of his immediate ‘No’ that had her changing her mind.

Ducking back under his jaw, she pulled him close, saying, “Never mind. I don’t want to know.”

Her arm draped around his side, and she squeezed him just tight enough to make his ribs complain. Holding him close, she spoke against his chest, “There is no bacta over here.”

Din knew what she wasn’t saying. Running a hand down the side of her head, he squeezed her neck, and then her shoulder, murmuring, “I know.”


	13. When the Tide Turns

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Huge thank you to POTFFAN, Different_frequency, and all the lovely people on the Discord chat forum. I had many issues with this chapter and you all are a huge motivation behind why it turned out as well as it did. I appreciate your help dearly!

* * *

Leaning back against Stomper’s stall door, Pari passed him a carrot from over her shoulder as she listened to Sash talking over comms about the friends she’s been able to visit with. Sash had been rambling on for close to five minutes straight when she had cut off to shout over her shoulder to a friend, and then she came back on the line, “So, is Din still leaving in a couple of days?”

Pari glanced over to where the Mandalorian was winding a length of rope into a neat loop. With his departure date closing in, Din had done mostly everything he could think of to get ready. A diagnostic of the ship ran clean, fuel got topped off, the Nav system updated, his preflight checks all came back within normal operational functions. Now, with nothing else to do, Pari observed as he burned off some nervous energy in the barn while she shut things down for the night.

“Um,” She muttered to her daughter as Din lifted the tidied rope in question. Pointing to a hook off to the right, she told Sash, “Two days, yes. Rherr’s bringing you home tomorrow night. Don’t worry. You’ll still get to say goodbye.”

“Is Din going to come back at all?”

The question came as a surprise and Pari stuttered her words for a moment. She hadn’t said anything to Sash about the possibility of Din returning. It wasn’t a guarantee. If something fell through, and he didn’t make it back, then she figured at least Sash could be spared the disappointment.

“Well,” Pari chose her words carefully. “He’d like to, but we’re just not sure it’s possible yet. So, we’ll just have to hope for the best. Right?”

Sash didn’t question her logic, just offered a little bit of her own by saying, “If it’s meant to be, it’ll be. Daddy used to tell me that.”

Pari smiled, “Yes, he did.”

Then, Sash surprised her again, stating, “I think Daddy would have liked Din.”

“Do you?” Pari questioned around the lump in her throat. Riley came up and leaned against her leg, and she bent over to rub his side.

Sash didn’t hesitate to confirm, “Totally. Din’s a lot quieter than Daddy was, but he’s really nice. And, he stuck up for us with Jett, and Dad was all about making good choices, doing what’s right, and helping others. I just think he would have liked to have met Din. That’s all.”

Turning her back on the Mandalorian who was busy tugging his cloak away from the mama goat four stalls down, Pari looked up at the ceiling of the barn and blinked back the moisture from her eyes. Clearing her throat, she responded, “You know, I think you’re probably right.”

“Are you crying?”

“No.” Pari chuckled, and so what if it came out strained and a little wet-sounding.

“Mom...”

“I’m not,” defended Pari. Riley started barking, and she glanced over toward the Mandalorian as he pulled a little harder against the teeth that clamped tight around the dark material. Thinking it was a game, her dog stood beside him, barking at the stubborn animal with a craving for wool fibers. Answering Sash, Pari told her, “Just got a little sentimental is all.”

There was a pause, and then, “You can cry. It’s okay, Mom. I miss Daddy too.”

“Guh,” Pari breathed out, “You’re killing me here, kid.”

“Why? Because I’m talking about Dad?”

“No,” Pari was quick to answer, shaking her head. “No, not because of that.”

“Well, what?”

“Just…” Pari sighed, turning back, she looked at Din. He had taken a knee in front of the pen as he worked at wedging a finger between the mama goat’s jaws. Riley stood beside him, supervising. She smiled. “You’re just an awesome kid, and I love you.”

“I love you more.”

Pari could hear the grin in her daughter’s voice and then countered by playing her usual trump card, “Oh yeah? Well, I’ve loved you longer.”

An exaggerated groan came over the comm, and Pari couldn’t help laughing as Din stood up, holding the tattered edge of his cloak. “Listen, babe. I’ve got to finish up here and get Riley fed. You have fun, okay? Be good for your _ba'vodu_.”

“Okay. Love you!”

“You too, kid.”

The line disconnected, and she smiled at the Mandalorian approaching her, “Bit of trouble there, big guy?”

“Your client’s animal _ate_ part of my uniform.”

“Yeah, gotta be careful around goats. They’ll eat anything.”

“Apparently.”

Grinning, she reached down and grabbed the damaged corner, “That’s not too bad.” He hmphed in response, and she told him, “You’re lucky she wasn’t halfway finished before you noticed what she was up to.”

Kidding aside, Pari knew how Mandalorians prided themselves on keeping their gear in good condition. Looking closer at the dark fabric, she ran her finger over the damaged part, offering, “I can smooth out the ragged edges here, run a few stitches through it to keep it from fraying.” She looked at him, “If you want.”

His hand closed over hers as he freed it from her grasp. The cloak fluttered back toward the floor of the barn, and he said, “That’s not necessary. I’ve got plenty of experience mending it. Besides, I have others.”

“If you say so,” Pari drew in a breath and then looked around. “I guess we’re pretty much done out here.”

She called for the dog who stood watching the mama goat—she was still chewing.

They walked toward the double-hung barn doors. Riley shot past them into the yard, and Din told her, “I need to grab something from the ship, then I’ll be in.”

She looked at him, “What do you need? I could grab it if you want. I have to go straight past there anyway.” His head tilted at her, and she said, “I need to check the gate in the bottom pasture. It has a knack for coming unlatched when the winds switch around to the south.”

He looked outside as he considered the offer. Pari knew it was tempting for him. He’s been busy today. On his feet for most of the day, she’d noticed his movements slowing down over the last couple of hours.

Din was looking so much better than that first night, but broken bones sap a lot of energy as they heal. Considering he had four ribs still actively trying to mend themselves back together, it was expected that he wasn’t back up to his average stamina yet.

The Mandalorian continued to look out the doors toward the lower pasture, and Pari leaned into his view, “Did I mention I have to go right by there?” He turned to her, and she said, “As in, literally, I will be walking right past your ship.” She grinned at him, “Unless you need one of those eighty-pound attack crates that got the drop on you that first night…”

She picked up a breath of amusement from behind the helmet, “No. Nothing like that. Just a datapad.”

“A datapad.”

He nodded.

Pari scoffed at that, “I think I can handle swinging by to grab a datapad.” To make him feel better, she offered, “Look, you finish closing up in here. Kill the lights, latch the door, and I’ll meet you back inside. If you really want more to do, you can throw a couple of scoops of Riley’s food into his bowl and I’ll feed him when I get inside.”

Brushing a piece of hair off her shoulder, he sighed, “Alright.”

Pari cocked her head at that, “Why is this such a big deal for you?”

He thought for a beat, “I guess I’m just not used to accepting favors.”

Hooking his belt with a finger, she tugged him a step closer, saying, “Mucking out the stalls when I’m swarmed with clients, that’s asking for a favor. Swinging by for a datapad when I’m already going that way, that’s just being practical.” Slipping her arm beneath his cloak, she settled it around his waist, saying, “And, you definitely come across as the practical type.”

Riley trotted up. Sitting down in front of them, he whined for attention. Din ignored the animal as his visor tipped down to her. Pari got the impression she was under the weight of his stare as he said, “You keep asserting logical viewpoints. It makes it difficult to argue.”

“Good.” Patting his chest, she grinned, “I’ll be in shortly.” Then, she took a step back and turned to leave, calling for the dog to follow.

~~

Pari was halfway down the hill when the whine of the barn door moving on its track called out on the nighttime breeze. Walking through the field, thin blades of green bowed around her, brushing against the knees of her jeans as Riley shot past. Running shoulder-deep through the pasture, his black and white body could barely be seen off in the distance as it continued to part the sea of grass. 

The sun had already tucked itself away, and the moon was full and bright in the clear night sky as it rose over the horizon. The breeze had switched around to the south this afternoon and it was nice not to be freezing for the first time in almost two weeks. It was still winter, and it was still cold, but at least that biting north wind had left them for a day.

Walking up to the ship, she had the thought that she didn’t have a clue how to breach it. She didn’t see any outdoor controls, and she was about to call out to Din and ask when there was a hydraulic hiss, and the ramp started to lower.

Pari wasn’t sure if it was set to a proximity alert or if Din had waited for her to get close before using the control on his vambrace. Either way, she raised a hand in thanks.

As she had left the barn, Din had stopped her to say the datapad was in the cockpit. Now, as she neared the descending ramp, she was thinking about the ladder that led to the upper level. She remembered finding him at the bottom that first night. Laying on the lower deck, he’d been in some pretty rough shape.

A flashing red light and a series of high-pitched beeps ripped her from her thoughts. She stopped in her tracks and noticed a small light coming from a device attached to the outside wall of the ship. She had enough time to scream for Riley to get back before the explosion went off.

Everything turned a brilliant white, and she became airborne.

She never felt herself hit the ground.

~~

The first thought to float through Pari’s mind was that it was too hot. Why was it so damn hot? Why was she lying on the hardwood floor in their living room? Why was she so close to the fireplace, or was the heater just turned up much too high?

She was thinking that she was too sleepy to find out, but she was also too warm to stay where she was. Trying to figure a way out of her situation, she picked up on the sound of someone saying her name. Someone was calling her. They were shaking her shoulder. Maybe they knew she was too hot? She was too tired to get up. She should tell them to go turn down the heater.

A hand touched her face, and she heard her name again. It sounded louder, a little clearer. It seemed to get muffled by a droning roaring sound and the constant ringing in her ears she was just noticing. The ringing was more annoying than the heat and helped to rouse her a little bit more. Still too tired to open her eyes, she reached out as she was shaken again. The house felt stifling, and figuring out how to make her words work, Pari asked Junn to go turn down the heater.

The shaking halted. It started up again a second later a little more eager. Someone started tapping her face, calling her.

The pain hit then. Sharp and relentless, it settled right behind her forehead like a fatal case of brain freeze. It was enough to force back her lethargy enough to crack her eyes open because there was just too much going on that wasn’t making sense.

Blinking up at the shape hovering over her, she frowned as it warped back and forth before finally settling and became stable. Din. He was leaning over her. The tapping on her face stopped, and she thinks she hears him talking to her. She didn’t clue into his words if he had. She was too captivated by the background of bright orange beyond him. It was the source of the heat.

She remembered the bomb.

“Din!” she sucked in a gasp at how loud her voice was inside her head. She started pushing herself up on shaky arms and he grabbed her, telling her to stay down, but all she could think of was the explosion.

He was talking to her again, leaning into her view and asking her something. She wasn’t listening. There was a thought scratching at the back of her mind. Something she wasn’t remembering. Something important. She looked around for a moment, and then her hands latched onto his arms as she cried, “Riley!”

Pari looked past the Mandalorian, shouting for the dog. Din’s hands clamped down on her arms, telling her something, as she moved to turn over. She had to find Riley, had to see if he was alright. Pari tried to sit up, but she was grabbed again and stopped.

“Here! He’s right here!” Din was shouting at her. Voice loud and authoritative, he got in her face, barking, “Stop moving and tell me if you’re okay!”

“Where?” she demanded. “Where is he?” Her hand was moved over top of a furry head lying by her side. She looked over and smiled through tears of relief, “Hey, bub. Are you okay?”

“Spooked, but okay,” Din answered for the dog. His gloved fingers touched her jaw and gently turned her head back to face him. “Are you okay? Anything hurt; broken? You don’t seem to be bleeding...”

“I—” she tested her limbs, “I think I’m okay...” A high-pitched alarm cut through the ringing in her ears, stopping her thoughts. It was coming from inside the ship. She propped herself up on an elbow and his hand landed on her shoulder as she looked around him. Her mouth dropped open at the sight, “Din, the fire! Your ship!”

“Salvageable. Do you think you can stand?”

She couldn’t stop watching the fire, and he ducked back into her view for a second time, “Pari.”

Was there a question? Looking into the orange flames dancing on the corner of his blackout visor, she blinked, “What?”

“Can you stand?”

“I think so,” she answered and started pushing herself up. There was a hand on her arm and one on her back, guiding and supporting her. Besides the pain in her head and the annoying ringing in her ears, she thought she was doing pretty good.

“Go slow,” she was told as he gripped both her arms, rising from the ground in pace with her. She got almost completely vertical when the pasture spun. Her legs got tangled up, and she stumbled forward.

“All right,” Din grunted, catching her before she could faceplant into the field. “That’s a no.”

She was eased back down to the grassy field. Riley came over and sat beside her as she looked mournfully at the ship. The fire around the structure of the vessel was barely noticeable. It was whatever had caught fire on the _inside_ that was burning. There was still time to get it under control.

She looked at Din, “You’ve got to go put that out.” Was she shouting? Pushing aside the errant thought, Pari nodded toward the ship. Pain bloomed behind her forehead, and she took any further quick movements off the table. Squeezing her eyes closed, she held her brow.

Din’s gloved hand cupped the side of her jaw, and his thumb rubbed over her cheek. She squinted up at him, “Do you have an extinguisher you can get to? If not, go back to the barn. There’s one—”

“I have one in an outside compartment, yes.”

He glanced back at the ship, and she told him, “Go. Put out the fire before it’s too late.” Din faced her again. He looked her over, and she insisted, “I’m okay. Go, before it ruins your chance to get back to your kid.”

Din’s hand touched the side of her head, and then he pushed to his feet. Riley stood also, and she had to grin when he pointed at the dog, “Stay.”

Riley laid down by her hip. It looked like an excellent idea, so she laid back against the tall grass and draped an arm over her aching head.

“You too.”

She didn’t have to look at him to know it was her this time on the receiving end of the Mandalorian’s command. Second time in under forty-eight hours to be exact. Grinning again, she waved him on in a sloppy motion, “Go.”

She didn’t watch Din turn and walk away from them. The heat his body had been blocking washed over her in his absence, then she must have lost track of time because it had suddenly grown dark around them, and the roasting heat had died away. An acrid scent of burnt materials hung heavy in the air, and Pari picked up the sound of field grass crunching under Din’s boots as he approached them again. 

“Still with me?”

“Yeah,” she cracked her eyes open and found him leaning directly above her. A couple of gloved fingers moved the hair from her forehead, and then he was taking her by the shoulders and easing her forward.

Pushing off the ground, Pari moved with him until she was sitting up. She leaned her shoulder against him, thinking about how it was nice that the pasture wasn’t spinning anymore. Still, she was sort of dreading the trek back up to the house.

Din’s hand moved lightly over her back, brushing away the dead grass stuck to her coat and then his arm wrapped around her back. Drawing her to himself, he said, “C’mon,” as he pulled her forward. Pari got ready to stand with him, but then she was lifted and held.

“Din, no.” Pari shook her head against his shoulder. Adjusting her in his arms, he asked, “What?”

“Your ribs, Din. You can’t carry me up to the house.”

“I know. Hold on.”

“What?”

His head angled toward her, “Hold on.”

She was going to protest again when he took a couple of steps, but a hollow whirling sound cut through her thoughts. Her stomach plummeted as the ground dropped out from beneath them.

Pari didn’t mean to jump, but launching into the sky was _not_ something she had been expecting. Her arms clung to his neck out of instinct as they flew over the top of an eighty-year-old aphor tree.

Din pulled her closer, “I've got you. Trust me.”

“I do,” her words tumbled out past her lips without thought, and she let her aching head rest against his shoulder.

Their trip was short, and the landing relatively gentle as Din adjusted his footing on the ground beside her porch. The Phoenix cut off. Holding her still, he asked, “Think you can manage the steps?”

“Yes,” Pari answered.

He seemed to consider her answer for a bit before carefully easing her out of his arms. Her feet touched the ground, and she felt unsteady for only a moment before she walked forward and tackled the first step.

Keeping a hand on her arm, Din’s other hand landed at the small of her back as they climbed the full set up steps to the porch. Unlike when she’d stood that first time in the field, everything remained level as they made it across the porch.

Riley was already waiting for them by the front door, and walking inside, he ran circles around them a couple of times as Din led her through the living room and straight into her bedroom. She didn’t argue when he coaxed her down onto the bed.

Curling onto her side, Pari closed her eyes. The bed dipped as Din sat beside her, asking, “What hurts?”

She started to drum up some sort of witty metaphor for the pounding in her head, but that was going to take energy she didn’t have. So, instead, she told him, “My head is pounding, my ears are ringing, but that’s dialed down some.” She thought. “My face feels a little toasty.”

“Toasty.”

“Yeah, like a mild sunburn.”

“Most likely a touch of flash burn.”

“I figured.”

“Do you think you have a concussion?”

She raised a shoulder toward her ear, “If I do, it’s mild.”

“I’m going to get your scanner.”

The bed moved as he got up. She was about to argue that she didn’t need a scan but, again, the energy it would take to argue was enough to let him walk away.

The door closed, and Riley lifted his front paws onto the bed behind her. His chin came down and rested on the curve of her waist and she thought about how he had seemed completely fine. He’d run after them, barking at them as Din flew them up to the house. Pari remembered him running off past the ship shortly before the ramp lowered. He probably wasn’t even near when the bomb went off.

Pari would have Din give him a scan anyway, just to make sure.

~~

Riley jumped down as the front door opened and then closed. Pari rolled onto her back as Din walked into the bedroom. Holding the scanner, he flipped the switch on the bottom, and then the familiar whining pitch of it powering up sounded through the room. Leaning over her, Din told her to stay still as he started passing the scanner slowly over her body. Less than a minute later, he stopped and handed it back to her.

Pari looked at the green screen: No alerts present. Nodding, she told him, “See, I told you. I’m fine.”

“You were in close proximity to an explosion, Pari. You are not fine.”

Setting the scanner off to the side, she took a moment to really look at the Mandalorian beside her as the tension in his voice encircled them with a tangible heaviness. It settled within her heart and made it ache for him. It wasn’t hard to figure out the guy was kicking himself for giving in and allowing her to make the run to the ship for him. Din could be hard to read sometimes, but right then, she was positive he thought that it should have been him to discover the bomb.

Pari looked at him. Reaching out, she tugged on his wrist and scooted over, mumbling, “C’mere.”

He didn’t budge. Standing beside her, Din’s hand closed around her arm and squeezed the slightest as he countered with, “You said your head hurt? Anything else bothering you?”

Pari gave the question due process and told him, “I’m a little achy; probably really be feeling that later, and my shoulder is sore.”

“Which shoulder?”

She tapped her left, “The scan came back clear; it’s just sore.”

Din finally moved. Taking a seat beside her on the bed, he leaned in, running a hand over the joint. She flinched when he made it to the side, and he looked at her, “Your coat is dirty there. Grass and dirt markings. You probably took the brunt of the landing here.”

“Probably,” she mumbled in agreement.

There was a tug against the back of her collar as then the zipper was pulled down, “Can you sit up? I’ll help you out of it.”

She started to push off the bed, and Din’s hand slipped behind her back and drew her in. Her arms felt like jelly, so she had no problem with letting him push the coat from her shoulders and finish pulling it off.

She went to lay back down, and Din wrapped an arm around her back, pulling her against himself, saying, “Wait.” Pari felt him reaching, yanking at something behind her, and then he told her, “Okay.” Turning to look, she saw that he’d pulled back the covers.

Pari slid backward, letting him ease her against the pillows, and then he was pulling her feet onto his leg. Working on the laces to her boot, he removed the left one and let it drop to the floor, saying, “I contacted your brother.” Din’s tone was softer than before, but that same heaviness remained. He glanced at her, “He was on base; told me he was leaving right away.” His hand squeezed her foot as he added, “He should be here in about twenty minutes.”

Pari watched him as he started on her other boot, “You told him about the bomb?”

“I did.”

“What was his reaction?”

“Concern; then anger.” Freeing her other boot, Din let that one drop also. She heard it meet the floor with a dull thud. His movements were tender as he lifted her legs and pulled the blankets further back while slipping her feet beneath. Pari looked at him, “You told him I was okay, though. Right?”

Din’s visor turned to face her, “I told him I didn’t know yet.”

“Din...”

“I wasn’t about to lie to him, Pari. I didn’t know.”

“Tell me you gave him more than just that to go on.”

“I told him what I knew: You were scraped up, but no open wounds. Moving okay, but obviously sore. It was all I had to go on at that point.” Grabbing the covers, he asked, “Do you want to call him on comms?”

Pari considered it and then sighed, “No, he’s breaking his neck to get here as it is. Even if I call and tell him I’m fine, he won’t believe me until he sees for himself. Talking to him won’t make him fly less reckless than he probably already is. I don’t want to distract him further if he’s going to be here in just a few minutes anyway.”

“Alright,” Din started to pull the covers over her but then stopped, asking, “Do you want to…” He trailed off, and she looked at him. Din gave the waistband on her pants a tug, “Do you want to get more comfortable first?”

Angling her head on the pillow, she tried to lighten his mood by joking, “Din Djarin. Are you trying to start something?”

“No.” His answer was swift and firm.

 _Okay, no jokes right now._ Reaching for him again, she said, “Maybe later. Just come here.”

Din settled the covers over her and then sat down. Leaning back against the headboard, he lifted his arm for her. She scooted in close and curled up. It was like fitting a couple of puzzle pieces together, and she melted against him.

Resting her head down, she could hear his heart beating, could feel his side expand with each breath, and when his arm settled around her shoulders, all of it made her feel a little bit better. Just by being close with him, warm, safe, and surrounded by the scent of him was all it took for her coiled, aching muscles to begin to relax.

Pari wrapped an arm around Din’s middle. She gave him a careful squeeze, and his free hand captured hers. Gloved fingers drew hers in as he closed them within his grasp. His arm tightened around her and held her snugly, telling her without words how he felt. He had been scared for her; now, he was grateful she was going to be okay. The way his breathing changed as his arm pressed her against his side felt like both an apology and a promise that he was going to fix it.

Din held her like that for another couple of minutes, then relaxed a little as his hand came down to rest over her arm. It moved lower again and then began to stroke along her back. Riley curled up on the floor by the side of the bed, and the atmosphere around them began to settle.

Neither one of them spoke for a while, and Pari could feel herself starting to drift off when a thought surfaced. It bothered her so much, she spoke it aloud, “Thank the stars Sash wasn’t home.”

The hand moving across her back paused, and then resumed, “Yes.”

The next thought stated the obvious, but she said it anyway. “This was Jett.”

Din’s hand vanished from her back and then a gloved finger was pushing her hair away from her face, “Is there a history of explosions on your property?”

She smirked into his side, “No.”

“Then, yes. This was Jett.”

“You guys were right. You and Rherr. You were right.”

His motions paused, “That doesn’t mean you were wrong.”

“If you and Rherr hadn’t insisted on Sash leaving—”

“Pari.” Din’s hand landed on her shoulder, “We’ve dealt with people like Jett before. Different circumstances, but yes, we had a feeling. There was a good chance Rherr would have been able to scare him off. There was a chance he wouldn’t. It was a 50/50 shot. Now we know the next step to take. Sash is safe; you are—you’ll be okay.”

The guilt in his statement was too easy to pick apart, and she addressed the unspoken beast looming in the room. “Din. You don’t get to feel bad about letting me get that datapad from your ship.”

He shook his head and looked off, but he didn’t respond.

“Hey,” she demanded, pushing herself to her elbow, “Look at me.” A sigh, and then he turned to face her. She told him, “I’m serious.”

“No, Pari. This one is on me. I let my guard drop. I should have expected it. I—” cutting off, he shook his head again, reiterating, “I should have expected it.”

Pari stared at him for a beat. She wanted to argue with him until she could break through the layer of guilt he held up like a shield. She knew his type, though. When it came to dealing with guilt, it was so much like her own. Sighing, she stated, “I’ve got no hope of talking you down from that ledge, do I?”

His visor tipped to face her. “Nope.”

She was too weary for arguing. They’d revisit this discussion later after Jett had been dealt with, after she was back to normal, and after Din had time to stew about things a little bit more. After the dust settled, then maybe she’d be able to match stubborn for stubborn and lock horns with him over his guilt until she could chip away a piece and carry it for him.

Din’s hand landed on her back again, and she sighed, letting his touch soothe her worries along with the ache in her head. She drifted somewhere between awake and not for a while when the thundering whine of an aircraft landing displaced the atmosphere. Soundwaves rolled against the windows in her bedroom, making them hum and rattle as the deep thrum of the ship’s thrusters surrounded them, reverberating throughout her chest and ears drums.

She had enough time to wince as it dialed up the pounding in her head, and then Din’s palm landed over the ear not laying against his side. Pressing down, his hand shielded her from the sounds coming at them from much too close as Rherr’s ship forwent the designated landing pad in her lower pasture and touched down right in her front yard.

The engines were still winding down as his running steps hit the stairs to the front porch. Taking them two at a time, they heard him bolt across the porch. Getting out of the way, Din slipped out from under her. The front door burst open, banging off the wall behind, and Rherr’s voice hollered for her.

“In here,” Din called and took a step back just as Rherr shouldered past the open doorway. His visor landed on Din, and then jerked to the bed. Ripping off his helmet, he let it drop to the floor as his knees landed beside it. Reaching for Pari, he was gentle as he gathered her to himself.

She felt his arms tremble the slightest as he pressed the side of his face to hers and just held her like that for a moment. His hand stroked over the side of her head, and she told him, “I’m okay, Rherr.” Gripping his arms, she told him again, “Honest, I’m okay.”

He laid her back, and his hands rubbed over her arms as he just looked at her. Just like she said he wouldn’t, he didn’t take her word for it and stood to face Din, “Is she? When you called, you said you were headed for the med scanner.”

If Din was struggling with how casually Rherr stood before him without his helmet, he seemed to take it in stride as he gave a steady nod, “Pari got tossed about ten feet by my estimate. The scan shows no concussion, nothing broken or damaged. She’s got a headache, some ringing in her ears, and her shoulder will be sore for a few days, but she’s okay for the most part.” He paused, then added, “It should have been so much worse. We got lucky.”

Pari frowned at the statement, and Rherr turned a half step to faced Din fully, “Lucky?”

“The device appears to have been built improperly. Only a small portion of the charge went off.”

The implication of what could have happened pulled at Rherr’s face as it reflected in Din’s tense stature.

Pari’s mind was spinning. _Worse?_ She didn’t want to think about what that might have meant for her. The tension in the room reached uncomfortable levels, and she had the urge to hold her breath as the two Mandalorians stared at each other.

 _“Fuck!_ That—” Rherr cut off with a furious growl and then took a breath. Running a hand over his mouth, he seemed to be thinking, then he sat on the side of the bed and grabbed her hand.

Pari stacked her other one on top of his as she looked at him, demanding, “Sash doesn’t know, does she?”

Running a hand over his face, Rherr shook his head, “She was in the child center watching a movie with her friends. I stopped in to tell her I had to leave for a while. I barely got a grunt of acknowledgment. She’s fine; having fun.”

Pari grinned at the visual, then felt it slip away as Rherr’s expression turned hard and fierce. He looked at her for another second and then, turning to where Din stood, he declared, “I’m finishing this tonight.” He looked at him for a beat, “You want in?”

Din’s voice dipped into that same dark, dangerous place Rherr’s had come from, answering with a solid, “Yes.” He looked down at her, and she knew her look of concern for him was unmistakable. He held her gaze for a moment longer and then turned back to Rherr.

“Give me two minutes,” Din said, then he walked out of the room.

~~

Standing in the spare bedroom of Pari’s house, Din started strapping on all of his armor and gear. The systematic process of it was relaxing as it drew his thoughts into a narrow line of focus. Years of preparing for battle had developed into a ritualistic process for him. It allowed him to detach emotionally from the thought of leaving Pari when part of his heart wanted to stay and hold her close.

Having to shut off that emotion was a new step for him in a process he had long ago ironed out the last kink. Now, since he’d become _buir_ to the child he had hunted and then saved, when he had to step away for much of the same reason, he wrestled away the whispers of his heart that urged him to stay and protect. It was a process and something he works at now, knowing that sometimes the best form of protection is to leave, hunt down, and nullify what threatens to destroy what he holds precious. 

Closing the catches to his cuirass, securing his cloak, strapping on his shin guards, checking his blaster charge, and slipping on his weapons belt, each movement pushed his feelings deeper into the far recesses of his mind where they would be kept on lockdown until this business was finished. It was a necessary process if he wanted to remain focused, giving him his best chance of coming back to whoever might be waiting for him.

Checking the charge on his blaster one more time, Din slipped it into the holster and brushed his fingers over the vibroblade stuck in his boot, a final step that concluded the process and solidified his perceptual objective.

Walking through the living room, Din reentered into Pari’s bedroom.

He found Rherr standing beside the bed. He still had a hold of Pari’s hand, but he’d replaced his helmet. Her brother turned to face him, “I’ll get the ship started up. We leave in five.”

“Roger that,” Din affirmed and stepped back, giving him room to depart. The Mandalorian from a different Jakku banged his fist down against Din’s shoulder in passing. The move was a familiar pre-battle pump-up, and Din gave him a nod.

Rherr left, and Din looked over at Pari. She held her hand out, and he went to her. Taking her hand in his, he sat down beside her. He hated to see the concern and worry in her eyes. He expected her to bring up his lingering injury, to ask him if he was sure he could do this, or to maybe try and talk him out of going altogether. He couldn’t entirely blame her if she did. He knew if their roles were reversed, he’d be concerned too.

Instead, she just stared at him as the sound of Rherr’s ship roared to life in her front yard. Touching the side of his helmet, her other hand found the opposite side and drew him down to herself until it rested against her forehead. Looking straight into his visor, she took a slow breath and then told him, “I trust you to know your limits.”

That was all she said, and Din’s hands came up to frame the sides of her face. Closing his eyes, he allowed himself another second, stroking down the sides of her head a couple of times. He looked at her one more time and then pulled back and stood up.

Eyeing the dog sitting beside the bed, Din patted the mattress beside Pari, telling him, “C’mon.”

Riley didn’t have to be told twice, and Pari didn’t mention her, _no dogs on the furniture_ policy. The animal settled himself against her side, and her hand came down over the top of his furry head. Din placed his over top of hers and gave Riley a scratch behind his ear. Looking at Pari, his head tipped down into a slight bow and then he turned on his heel and left.

_TBC_


	14. Two Mandalorians Walk into A Bar...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Translations:**  
>  _Di'kut—_ idiot, useless individual, waste of space (lit. someone who forgets to put their pants on)  
>  _Gar serim—_ Yes, you’re right/That's it.  
>  _Verd—_ soldier/warrior  
>  _Dral—_ strong, powerful  
>  _Laandur—_ delicate, fragile (an insult - weak, pathetic)  
>  _Shabuir—_ extreme insult - "jerk" but much stronger  
>  _Briikasak—_ Phrase for a "run ashore" - brief R and R. (Lit: "Beer, big eats, good company and return to camp.") Summary of a Mando soldier's idea of a good night out.

* * *

**Warning: Graphic depictions of violence.**

* * *

Din walked up the loading ramp and Rherr waited for him to reach the modest cargo hold of his single-decker ship before closing the hull. With the _Insurgent_ prepped for takeoff, he was already lifting her into the sky as Din slid into the copilot’s seat beside him. 

“Tell me about this device that went off wrong,” Rherr said as Pari’s land shrank beneath them.

The Mandalorian in silver beskar adjusted the seat’s harness. Fastening it, he said, “Whoever built it, didn’t know what they were doing.” Rherr looked over, and Din elaborated, “The blasting cap was too small to handle the scope of the charge. On top of that, they used the wrong type of wires.”

_“Di'kut.”_

“ _Gar serim_.”

Rherr smirked behind his visor and then glanced over to the copilot’s seat, “Are you healed enough for this, _verd?”_

“Why, did they bring a _dral_ fight last time?”

Rherr broke out into a full laugh, drawling, _“Laandur.”_

Din nodded, “Not surprising. How many were there last time?”

“Just the _shabuir_ and the two you described, but I guess he was smart enough to expect retribution. I have fresh intel that says it’s going to be Jett plus approximately fourteen others.”

Din looked over, “Jett does _not_ have that many friends.”

“Agreed,” chuckled Rherr. “Definitely hired muscle.”

“Well, maybe he pays cheap and gathered a shit crew.”

Rherr nodded. Reaching above him, he flipped a switch, stating, “You never answered my question _.”_

“Answer me one first.”

“Okay.”

“Would you have gone after Jett tonight regardless of whether or not I joined you?”

Rherr looked over, “Yes.”

“Then, you don’t think about me in there.” Din turned to face him, “You think about ending this and staying alive. That’s it.”

“I get you, but I also need to know the condition of the soldier I’m walking into a firefight with—especially if it’s going to be our first dance.”

Rherr picked up on the breath of a laugh, and then Din replied, “Fair enough. A few ribs are mending and I’m still rebuilding strength in my leg. Considering I’m not taking lead tonight, it’s nothing that would hold me back or compromise the objective.”

“Works for me.” Rherr leaned forward and pressed a button on the dash. A 3D hologram of the building’s schematics projected from the instrument panel. There was a blip of static and then it started rotating clockwise. “This is where we’ll find them. It’s a bar, 711 meters squared, 8.5 wide and 27.3 long. Ten round tables up front, a wet bar along the right side with four pool tables in the back.”

Din reached out and touched a setting on the device. The hologram tipped on its axis, and Rherr pointed, “Front door is transpirsteel. Low-grade. One bolt from a blaster and it’ll shatter.”

“What keeps someone from breaking in?”

Rherr looked over, “I take it things get pretty rowdy where you’re from?”

“Wherever drinking establishments are, yes.” He paused. “They’re usually not located in the most upstanding areas.”

Rherr nodded, “Miham, a city close to the Base, it’s big. Like most cities, it’s got shady sectors where crime tends to be the highest, so I get what you’re saying. This here, though, it’s just a sleepy little farming town.” Rherr grinned, "The most action this place has seen is when they installed the single streetlight about twenty years back."

He looked over and then back to the dark sky before them. “The people around here are generally trustworthy and honest. The kind that doesn’t have to know you before they help you out.”

“People like that don’t generally stand up against a guy like Jett.”

“No, they don’t,” Rherr agreed. He let the comment settle between them for a moment. Pointing at the hologram again, he continued, “Back door is full-on durasteel.” He zoomed in and the image narrowed to an area in the back. “Short hallway; refresher at the north end and the south, a side room, probably the owner’s office. It also has outside access.” 

The Mandalorian from a different dimension looked at the image for a moment longer and then backed out of the zoom. He rotated it upright again. It spun around to the front, and he paused it. Sitting back, Din told him, “If you want to finish this tonight, you’re going to have to find a way to trap Jett in there with us. Otherwise, he’ll bolt.”

“Agreed.”

“If the front door is easily compromised, there’ll be no way to secure it. If he gets lucky and somehow manages to get to the door, one shot and he’ll be gone. To eliminate that possibility, I suggest setting a charge.”

Rherr’s visor did a double-take. “So we’re clear, you’re saying you want to blow up the entrance—after we’re inside.”

“Maybe. I’ll need to get a live read on the structure stability first. Otherwise, the whole place could come down on top of us.”

“Right,” he grinned, “and I’m just going to put this out there: That would be bad.”

“Yes.” Din agreed over a soft chuckle, “However. If the building can limp by with just the entrance compromised, then, yes. I say we blow it and magnetize the lock on the back door, fusing it shut until we’re done. Trap them in there like rats and start picking them off.”

Rherr rolled the idea around in his head for a minute. At first, the thought of compromising the structure by blowing up the front entrance felt like a really bad idea. Although, the more he thought about the way Din suggested they go about it, it didn’t seem _all_ that crazy. If executed just right, the plan could become a double-edged sword against Jett and his assembled crew.

The explosion would satisfy its primary objective by trapping their main target, but it could also work to flip the dynamics of Jett having the advantage of fighting on familiar ground. It would also put a significant crimp in any plans he might have already laid out with his crew.

Considering all this, his mind took him on a little side trip back to something one of his former commanders always drilled into their heads:

_“A firefight is just as much psychological as it is physical. Combat goes hand in hand with confusion and chaos, and you are constantly faced with making instant life or death decisions. If something goes unaccording to plan, there is no time to stop and regroup to come up with a new one._

_“If you can somehow control the confusion and chaos, you’ll disrupt the enemy’s ability to orient himself to his environment before he can decide what to do about it. Keep pushing, and he’ll begin to make errors in judgment. It’s only a matter of time before one of those errors will be fatal.”_

Considering this strategy from his past training, an extension to Din’s plan formed in Rherr’s mind, and he asked, “Do you have a second charge on you?”

Din looked over, “I have four.”

“You know...” Zooming in again on the side room in the back, Rherr offered, “If you feel like setting two charges, we could also take out that hallway. Take care of that third outside entrance.”

“I can do that.”

“Because, I’m thinking, a little bit more of a commotion, throw in a solid dose of flying debris and dust...”

“Shock and disorientation. Poor visibility.” Din nodded, “I like it.”

“Apart from the side room, the bar doesn’t have any windows. Air circulation will be minimal. The dust should provide decent cover for a while before it settles.”

The quiet hum of the ship settled around them as he took a minute to think. Manipulating the hologram again, Rherr zoomed back out a little. He pointed at the floating image, “The entryway to the hallway is pretty wide with zero cover. It butts right up to the pool tables. If you want the maximum effect from the blast, you’ll have to set the charge right beside the entry. You’ll need to be damn quick setting the charge and then getting back out of there.”

Rherr looked over, “Is your leg going to let you move like you need to? I could do it, and I’m not against going in, but seeing as they’re _your_ charges and you know how they behave; it would be better to have you in there if you can.”

“I can handle it.” The look behind his visor slipped into a silent evaluating stare. Din obviously picked up on it, and asserted, “I would let you know if I couldn’t.”

Rherr barely knew the guy, but he has fought alongside many soldiers in the decades he’s spent wearing the helm. Each boy who swears himself to the creed after speaking the _Resol'nare_ , they all grow into one out of a few specific types of soldiers, and Rherr has worked with them all.

From the talks and interactions he’s had with Din, his soldier type had come across loud and clear from the beginning. Sure, the guy was more reserved than he was, but when it came to his devotion to the creed and opinions on principle ethics, it had been a little uncanny to find out how closely Din’s personality as a warrior matched his own. It was because of this that when Din said he could handle setting the charge, Rherr felt comfortable taking him at his word.

“All right, then.” He gave Din a nod. “Looks like we’ve got a plan.”

Din’s helmet cocked to the side, “Looks like.”

Rherr pointed at a patch of land in the distance. “That’s where we’ll touch down. It’s five clicks away from the bar. They won’t hear the ship coming in.”

“You want to double-time it to the bar?”

“We could.” Rherr thumbed over his shoulder, “Or we could use the speeders in the back.”

Din looked over, “You keep speeder bikes in your hull?”

His visor turned to faced Din’s, “You don’t?”

* * *

Music could be heard blasting through the bar from down the street. Stepping up on the sidewalk, Rherr opened the door and a wave of sound and heat pushed against him as he held it open. Din stepped through, and Rherr followed after.

They walked past the first table, and a couple on the far side of the room got up and left. Rherr stepped up to the bar and flagged down the owner. Sidling up beside him, Din leaned an elbow against the dark wood and glanced around the full girth of a Gamorrean to get a view of the back of the bar.

It was easy to pick out Jett and his crew as they drank and took up all four pool tables. A quick glance and Rherr took in the assortment of characters he’d managed to pull together. Waiting for the bartender to make his way down to them, he tensed as he picked up on one of them talking much too loudly about a bomb that was set to kill a Mandalorian but took out some slut instead.

Forcing back rage, Rherr blew out a silent exhale and noticed how Din’s own breathing was a little too symmetrical. Recognizing it as forced calm, Rherr knew he had heard them also.

Walking over, the bartender eyed Din as he moved past and stepped up opposite of Rherr. Wiping his hands on a towel, he flipped it over his shoulder. “You’re back,” the owner gave Rherr a shaky grin.

“Yep.” He jutted his chin at the man, “You still got that card I gave you last time? The one with the info to call for compensation on damages?”

“Yeah, yeah,” the man’s head bobbled with eager nodding. “Got it at home. I didn’t use it last time. There wasn’t really any damages. A little bit of a mess to clean up, but nothing I needed to contact your Tribe over.” He gave Rherr a nod, “Appreciate that, Mando.”

The owner looked between him and Din, “What can I get you? You and your friend, anything you want. It’s on the house.”

“Nothing. I just wanted to make sure you still had the card.” He pointed down the bar toward the back room, “You’re going to need it after tonight.”

The bartender’s face went slack in understanding.

Rapping his knuckles against the wood of the bar, Rherr gave him a single nod before stepping away. Din pushed off the bar and moved past the Gamorrean. They walked down the center of the tables and then split off.

Everything went quiet as Din strolled to the left side of the room, and Rherr took the right.

A Zabrak standing by the first table watched as Rherr approached. Stepping backward, his eyes glued to his helm until he bumped into the table behind him.

Across the room, a couple of humans abandoned their game at the table where Din stood. Tossing their cue sticks onto the blue felt, they palmed their blasters as they backed away. The backroom turned into one big stare down, and every customer not on Jett’s crew filed out the front door.

Looking around, Rherr announced, “Anyone who doesn’t want a piece of this, I suggest you leave while you can.”

Jett looked between the two of them, and then he looked harder at Din. The man in silver beskar was leaning against the wall like he didn’t have a care in the world, and Jett wagged a finger at him, _“_ I remember you. _You’re_ the one that was there with Pari that day.”

Thumbs tucked behind his belt, Din didn’t react; he just kept staring straight through Jett.

“Last chance,” Rherr cautioned.

Two guys got up and left. One of them was the bartender.

The Chiss from last time was there. The white tape strapped over the bridge of his nose stuck out in contrast to his blue skin and red eyes. Rherr didn’t see One-eye.

“That it?” Rherr looked around. Picking up the six ball from the pool table, he tossed it in the air and caught it. He looked over the group and couldn’t help the wide grin spreading from behind his visor. “You all think you’ve got the balls to rumble with a couple of Mandalorians?”

Jett laughed. Standing taller than pretty much everyone else there, the husky man patted the shoulder of one of his crew as he brushed past. Spreading his arms, he declared, “There’s fourteen of us and only two of you.”

Setting the ball down carefully, Rherr looked at Jett, “There could be twenty of you and only one of us, and you’d still be screwed.”

A Transdoshan got up and took the long way around Rherr as he walked past and straight out the front door. Din watched him leave, and Rherr turned back toward Jett, “Wise man.” He looked around, “Anyone else?”

Nobody moved. “Alright…” Rherr trailed off.

Din touched his vambrace, and the front door detonated.

Jett’s crew flinched in one collective duck from the shock of the blast. Glass showered into the room on a concussion wave, and then the front of the building crumbled, filling the doorway with broken stone and lumber.

A few guys started running to the back, and Din’s visor tracked them.

A second explosion rocked the foundation. Debris surged in, swiping a guy off his feet, taking out the Chiss on his way to colliding against the opposite wall. The building shuddered and groaned as it crumbled around where the hallway used to be.

Dust hung heavy in the room from the destroyed areas of the structure. Clouds of moving particles enveloped the front and back, spreading through the room and effectively degrading visibility down to murky at best.

Almost half of what remained of Jett’s crew bolted for the back door. The lights flickered a few more times as they pounded their fists against the steel door, shouting, while the rest of the crew coughed and hacked on the dust filling the room, and Rherr yelled above the commotion, “That _,_ Jett _,_ is how to set a _fucking_ charge!”

Someone took the first shot through the dust. The bolt hit the wall by his helmet, and Rherr took a step to his right. He fired back as two red streaks sailed across from Din’s position.

The room erupted into a searing display of red blaster fire, and everyone scrambled for cover.

Rherr tipped a table onto its side and dropped behind it as three bolts carved into the wood at his back. Touching his bracer, he changed the setting on his visor. He glanced around the side of his wooden shield, picked out a thermal body signature, and fired.

Shrinking back, two more bolts flew past as a minor explosion landed in close vicinity to where he last saw Din. Chunks of plaster and wood rained down behind him. Rherr was turning to look back as Din came sliding past a support beam, pulling a table over with him in the process.

Looking across the room, Rherr noticed the hand he held to his side and toggled off the modulator in his helmet. “You good?” he asked over comms.

Din looked over, then rocked back as blaster fire peppered the floor beside him. “Don’t think about me in here,” came the reminder in Rherr’s earpiece, and then, “I dropped three; one got back up.”

Rherr heard movement and glanced back. He picked off an orange and red silhouette running between the tables. “Guess that makes three down; wait—” he aimed and fired at a guy trying to creep along the wall five meters back. “—four.”

Din was already shooting over Rherr’s head. A body fell over the bar. “Five.”

Rherr asked, “You got eyes on Jett?”

“Lost him after the second charge went off.”

“At least we know he’s not slipping out.”

Din leaned around the side of the table and fired.

“They’re all pretty lousy shots,” Rherr remarked.

“Fucking casuals. Shooting at anything that moves.” To prove his point, Din grabbed a slab of destroyed duracrete from the floor and tossed it into the air behind them. Three red bolts cruised overhead, arching wide to the left. 

Rherr grinned. “Keep’em shooting. They’ll be out soon enough.”

“Too easy,” Din peered around the edge of his table, ”almost makes me feel bad about picking them off.”

Rherr’s helmet ticked to the side, “Almost.”

There was a tinny clunking sound as something rolled to a stop between them.

“Grenade!” Rherr leaped up, launching himself over the bar.

Even with the noise-dampening tech in his helmet, the explosion was loud. The floor shook as flying shrapnel exploded the liquor bottles lining the wall above him. He was hoping Din had found cover right before the smoke swirling around the ceiling flashed orange. Rherr picked up the sound of a flame thrower an instant before somebody screamed.

Alcohol rained down over Rherr, soaking into the fabric of his clothes as he crept out from behind the bar. He didn’t get a visual on Din, but he did pick out his next target. Crouching low, he walked ten steps and fired his whipcord. One hard yank and a guy who liked beer more than a good run fell into his grasp. Rherr skated his vibroblade across his neck. Blood jetted from the artery.

Tossing the gasping body to the floor, Rherr caught a whiff of himself. He smelled like the damn barracks on _Briikasak_ night. He made a mental note not to get too close to Din’s flame thrower. Speaking of which, he still didn’t have eyes on the guy _._

Hands grabbed him from behind. Seizing a wrist, Rherr tossed them over his shoulder. The body of a Rodian flopped onto the pool table. Rherr opened his comm, “You get to that nerf-herder first, you better save me a piece.”

An incoherent remark buzzed in his ear. The Rodian grabbed a pool ball, and Rherr slammed his fist into their face. “Did you just _grunt_ at me over comms?” An arm wrapped around his neck and Rherr pulled his blaster. One shot over his shoulder and they dropped.

Din came back with, “All I had to say—” he cut off, and a pained growl passed over the line, _Fuck!”_

A body sailed out of the dust from across the room. Taking out a low-hanging lamp, it hit the floor and rolled twice. At least now, he had an idea of Din’s position.

Blaster fire pinged off his pauldron. Rherr swung his aim around and dropped them. Someone shot out a light, and a blaster went skidding across the floor.

“I got him. Northwest corner.” The heads-up came over comms, and Rherr took off across the room.

Glass and building materials crunched underfoot as he approached. He could fucking _hear_ Din beating the shit out of the guy before he even laid eyes on them. Sounds of choking gasps and pleas to stop mingled through his earpiece as leather pounded against flesh and bone. Then a groan from Din hit his eardrum, low and gritty.

Rherr came around the side of a pool table and found Jett on the ground with Din straddling him. Jett had his large hand clamped down over the unprotected area of Din’s thigh.

Holding the guy’s wrist, Din growled as he pried back his meaty grip. Rherr pulled Jett, trying to haul him back, but the fucker had Din by his belt, keeping them intertwined.

“How’s that shrapnel wound, Mandalorian?” Jett squeezed harder, “Looked _real_ nasty.”

Din let go of Jett’s wrist and drove his fist into the guy’s throat.

Stunned, Jett’s hands flew to his neck, and Rherr dragged him back.

Jett kicked and squirmed, but Rherr got him into a chokehold and yanked him off the floor by his neck. Holding him against his orange armor, Jett was taking strangled, grating breaths as Rherr forced him to his knees.

Din barely made a sound as he got to his feet, but Rherr could see the pain behind his movements. Jett's splattered blood stood out in stark contrast against the silver helmet and cuirass as he came to stand before the choking man.

Looking at Din, Jett grinned. Nose shattered, face swollen and covered in blood, he was missing a couple of teeth as he released a wet breath of a laugh before gasping, “Tell me something, Mando. When you shoved your cock into that sweet little whore, I bet it was _my_ name she screamed. Wasn’t it?”

Din’s hand shot out and grabbed him by the hair, wrenching his head back.

Holding his vibroblade beside Jett’s face, Rherr flicked it on.

Jett struggled against them, but Din pinned him back, holding him still, as Rherr dropped his arm and cut into his throat. Dark red blood sludged out from the severed jugular and ran down Jett’s front in thick rivulets. His eyes bulged, and he thrashed, screeching in agony as Rherr's blade continued along its path and tore straight through his windpipe.

A rattling, gurgle filled the dusty room, and Din tossed Jett down to the floor.

Choking, Jett held his ruined throat and stared as they stood over him. Rherr didn’t cut the carotid artery. Death would take a minute.

Crouching down beside him, Rherr looked down the length of Jett's body. Looking back, he used the man’s shirt to clean his blade, saying, “Feel that, Jett? You just pissed yourself. Probably didn’t even know it, did you?”

Jett’s hand grabbed Rherr by his sleeve. Cowards always need comfort in their final moments. Rherr didn’t shove his hand away, just leaned in close enough for the dying man’s failing breaths to fog the bottom of his visor. There he remained, taking up Jett’s entire field of vision until his final breath, ensuring that the last thing his frantic eyes saw was the helm of the Mandalorian.

_TBC_


	15. Sending Out Flares

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Translations:**
> 
> _verd—_ soldier, warrior  
>  _gal—_ ale, alcohol, booze  
>  _hut'uun—_ coward (worst possible insult)

* * *

Inside the _Insurgent,_ Rherr was slipping the hook on the tie-down strap around the frame of his speeder bike as Din backed his into the designated spot. Ratcheting the lever worked the gears that took up the slack, pulling the strap taut. Rherr checked the tension between the bike and where the other end was anchored to the hull of the ship.

Walking over with another set of tie-downs, he observed Din’s movements as he dismounted the speeder. They were cautious and stiffer than Rherr would have liked. Grabbing a handle, he held the bike steady as it tilted under Din’s undistributed weight. “You okay?”

Din’s hand landed on the throttle as he straightened to his height, “Sore, but fine.”

Rherr eyed him warily, “You sure? Because Pari will kill me if I bring you back broken.” He stepped between the bikes, slipping the hook into the anchor on the wall.

Din reached out and took the other end of the strap. “She knows I came on my own accord,” he informed, securing it to the bike’s frame.

Ratcheting the lever, Rherr grinned wide behind his visor, “It’s funny how you think that matters.”

Testing the tension one final time, Rherr stepped out from behind the bikes. Pointing behind Din, he offered, “Refresher’s off that way to the right.” He gave a nod toward the sight of Jett’s dried blood splattered over his armor. “You’re going to want to do a quick wipe down before we get back to Pari’s.”

~~

Sitting in the pilot’s seat, Rherr considered the soldier walking around in the back as he increased the thrusters with gentle increments and lifted the ship off the ground. Pulling her up to cruising altitude, he set the autopilot. He was checking his fuel readings when Din stepped into the cockpit.

Rherr noticed he didn’t sit down right off. He didn’t have to ask why knowing Din was considering the discomfort of sitting with broken ribs as opposed to just standing. They’ve all been there at one time or another.

He was checking the Nav’s estimates on how much fuel he would use up between heading back to Pari’s and then backtracking to the Base when Din decided to ease himself into the seat beside him. He didn’t make a sound other than a careful exhale after he got settled. Studying the details on the readout, Rherr asked, “How bad are the ribs?” He touched a field box on the Nav, and it started running a calculation.

Din fastened the harness and gave the question a tilt of his head, “Not happy, but nothing concerning.”

Rherr looked over. “Was it that dude you flung across the room; he get in a lucky shot?”

“A little too lucky.” Din blew out a breath, “Cracked me with the narrow end of a cue stick in just the right spot.”

Rherr swore under his breath as he turned back to the Nav. “How much you want to bet that _hut'uun_ gave his crew a heads up on the injuries he knew you had.”

“More than likely.”

Finished with the Nav, Rherr sat back in his seat and looked out the canopy before them. The _Insurgent’s_ white navigation lamps sliced into the darkness, reflecting off the cloud deck below. Cutting through the night sky, her thrusters hummed through the quiet ship, filling the gap in their conversation.

It was quiet with nothing but the sounds of the vessel surrounding them, until Din looked over at him, asking, “You take a dunk in a vat of _gal_ or something?”

Rherr’s visor turned to the copilot’s seat. “I’m wearing about twelve different kinds of alcohol.”

Din chuckled as he looked out the clear transpirsteel canopy, and Rherr changed the subject. “Hey, so earlier, back at Pari’s...” Din turned back. “Was it jarring for you when I took off my helmet?”

“It...” Din paused. “It was a first for me. I’ve been a Mandalorian for most of my life and have never seen another’s face after they had sworn themselves to the creed.”

“Yeah,” Rherr nodded. “Sorry about that.”

Din shook his head, “Don’t be. This isn’t my dimension. The rules are different here, that’s something that I’m still getting used to, and I’m not just talking about the difference in Mandalorian culture.” He gave Rherr a sharp nod, “I appreciate the consideration you and Pari have shown for my customs.”

Rherr’s helmet bowed the slightest. “Pari mentioned you’re going to try to come back with your foundling.”

“Yes.”

“Do you think you might like to join my Tribe?”

Din stared out into the darkness in front of them for a beat. “You’re sure they would welcome a Mandalorian from a different galaxy with a foundling that may or may not have special powers?”

Picking up the smooth delivery of an important detail, Rherr’s eyes narrowed behind his visor, “These special powers, are they why your child is being hunted?”

“Yes.” Din looked over, “If others in your galaxy found out about what he can do, it could bring about a kind of trouble that your Tribe isn’t looking to have.”

Rherr nodded in understanding, “His powers, what are they? How does he use them?”

“Pari hasn’t told you?”

Rherr shook his head. “I didn’t even know that she knew.”

Din seemed to take a moment to absorb that, then said, “He can move things with his mind, and he can heal. So far, I’ve only seen him use them for protection and self-preservation.”

“Has he used them to kill?”

“One time, that I know of. An infantry flametrooper.”

Rherr turned in his seat to face Din more fully. “I’ve heard the legends, and you’re telling me your kid took out a freaking flametrooper with these powers of his?”

“Yes.”

_“How?”_

“I don’t... I’m not entirely positive. I can’t remember much from that day. I was in a bad way when it happened, barely hanging on, but according to a friend, he trapped the cone of flames. She said it seemed like he was collecting the fire for a moment and then shoved it back into the weapon. The backpack exploded, taking the Imp with it.”

Rherr just looked at him for a minute as he processed the incredible ability of Din’s foundling. "So, he used it in the act of self-defense. He was protecting you both."

“Yes.”

“Has he ever hurt anyone that didn’t deserve it?”

Din thought about arm wrestling with Cara and told Rherr what had happened with that. He finished by saying, “However, I think he misunderstood what was going on. She’s a former rebel shock trooper and pretty equally matched with me in strength. Watching us struggle against each other, he got the wrong idea.”

“Did he stop when you told him to?”

“He did.”

Rherr sat back in his seat and blew out a slow exhale. “How old is he again?”

He heard Din laugh under his breath. Curious as to why the question was humorous, he looked back over at the Mandalorian in silver beskar. The guy matched his gaze, saying, “You remember me telling you he’s not human?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, keep that in mind.”

“Okay.”

Din paused, then told him, “Chronologically speaking, I’m told he is fifty years old.”

Rherr leaned in, _“Fifty?”_

“Yes, but developmentally, he’s more like a two-year-old.”

“Well, shit,” Rherr leaned back in his seat again. “So, if he’s fifty,” he looked back over, “is he some sort of big man-child?”

Din laughed out loud. “No. He’s very small,” then gave a measured display by holding one hand about eighteen inches above the other. “And he doesn’t speak—verbally. I’m starting to think it might be due to some sort of developmental trauma he endured. He understands what I tell him, and I’ve been working with him on using sign language to communicate. He’s picked that up fast, but he remains non-verbal.”

Rherr nodded.

The proximity alert for Pari’s place cut into their conversation, and he switched off the autopilot. Settling back behind the controls, Rherr took stock of his gauges as her lands came into view. “To answer your earlier question: Yes, the Tribe would still welcome in you and your foundling. His abilities and the details behind him using them would need to be divulged to the _alor_.”

“Of course.”

“If you want, I can talk to my commanding officer. Tell him the bare bones of your situation, vouch for your devotion to the creed. He’d get the ball rolling on your induction. Being already vetted by me, when you came back, all you’d have left to do would be to meet with the _alor_ and take up the tribe's vows.”

Din was quiet as he looked down at the light spilling out of the barn. Rherr knew his sister was keeping busy to calm her mind—even though she _should_ be resting. They were almost on the ground when Din said, “And you don’t think I’d be turned away.”

The landing gear touched down. “I _know_ you won’t. Sure, your unique situation could, in theory, end up drawing the wrong kind of attention. But, seriously, Din,” Rherr looked over, “what is out there that an entire Tribe of Mandalorians cannot stand against?”

Releasing his harness, Din nodded. “Indeed.”

Rherr gave him a nod and watched him push to his feet. Standing, Rherr walked him through the cargo hold. “We fought together well tonight, _verd.”_

Din’s visor turned to face his. “We did.”

He held out his hand, and Din clasped it. Rherr told him, “Get some rest. I’ll be back tomorrow with Sash.”

Din gave the handshake a final pump. “See you then.”

He turned to walk down the ramp, and Rherr called out, “Hey! See if you can talk my stubborn sister into getting some rest also.”

Din waved in acknowledgment as he stepped onto the grass. Closing up the hull, Rherr was grinning as he turned around and headed back toward the cockpit.

~~

Pari lasted in bed maybe an hour after the guys had left before her nerves got the better of her. Her mind had rambled on loudly as it dragged her through one stressful possibility after another. Rherr and Din were soldiers. She understood that meant their lives were crafted around stepping into one potentially dangerous situation after another. Just like her father’s had been.

She could remember a couple of times from her teenage years overhearing her mother asking him if he was fit enough for battle. So much like Din had been, the man hardly let injuries keep him down. More times than not, he would return to fight if he was needed even if that meant he hadn’t been completely healed. And Pari was no fool. She knew Rherr had been guilty of doing the same plenty of times after swearing his loyalty to the Creed the day he turned fifteen.

His battered and stressed white and orange armor stood testament to that. White for the purity of his devoutness and highlighted with bright orange symbolizing a lust for life under the Way, Rherr was a walking embodiment of Mandalorian pride and spirit. In the short time she’d known Din, Pari had come to realize he was the same.

That’s how she had known that this interdimensional drifter that had snuck up from behind and stolen her heart would not hesitate tonight to follow Rherr into battle—injuries be damned. She had been concerned when faced with that realization, but she had also promised Din to trust him to know his limitations.

He had been a Mandalorian for far longer than she had known of his existence and had managed to stay alive so far without her nagging him about his choices. He was his own person with a deeply held faith in upholding the Way. She had neither the right nor the desire to try and change that view.

Still, as strong as that belief was, she was human. Just like anyone with a loved one who might walk into battle, she worried. Lying there in bed with Riley snoring beside her hadn’t done anything but breed those worries into a tangled mess of nerves. So, she had lasted an hour before dragging herself out to the barn where she knew there was always something to do. Even if that something was as mundane as sweeping the clean duracrete floor beneath her feet.

She was in the back, near the animal pens when the sound of Rherr’s ship came in from a distance and, like just a few hours ago, touched down on her front lawn. There was a flash of nervous energy that urged her to go and make sure they were okay, that Rherr hadn’t landed there out of necessity. She remained rooted to her spot, however, knowing she would be hollered for if they needed help. The light was on in the barn; it would be obvious to them where she was.

Then the ship was lifting off again, and she drew in a steadying breath. Everything must be okay. Content in knowing that Rherr was just dropping Din back off, she tried not to overthink why he might have picked the front lawn again over the lower pasture. Rherr knew how she felt about the large ugly patches of dead grass the thrusters leave behind.

The _Insurgent_ cut through the sky with a thundering rip a moment or two before Din’s voice carried in from the doorway of the barn. “What are you doing?”

The question came at her before he’d even fully stepped inside. Standing at the back, Pari looked down the length of the aisle that split the animal pens. She was relieved to see him in one piece, even if he was favoring his right leg more than he had over the past few days.

Answering, she kept it simple and to the point. “My job.”

“You don’t need to be out here right now.”

She appreciated the concern, but as she’d trusted Din with his limitations, she expected the same in return. The fact that she felt she wasn’t getting it mixed with the tenacious pain stabbing behind her forehead, making her feel frustrated and cranky—and maybe just a little bit confrontational—as she pulled out one of his standard comebacks. “I’m fine.”

“You’ve been through a lot tonight. You’re still hurting.” He eased himself to stand beside her. Touching her arm, he told her again, “You shouldn’t be out here working right now.”

She gave him a challenging look. “Why not.”

His head tilted. “For the reasons I just mentioned.”

She scoffed, grinning in disbelief. “It’s been less than two weeks since you either busted or cracked about half the ribs on your right side. Do you know how long it takes a bone to heal without bacta? Depending on the severity, a minimum of four weeks. Then you go out there tonight and take on Jett and his crew while you’re still healing, and come back and get onto me because I’m out here sweeping the damn floor?”

“Okay, that...?” Din pointed out the doors into the darkness of the hour, “That _had_ to be taken care of ASAP. This does not.”

“I’ll buy that, but you didn’t have to go.”

“So, you _wanted_ Rherr to take on Jett and fourteen hired mercs, alone?”

She was trapped between a rock and a hard place and the fact that he seemed to have a solid point made her mood sour even more. She was sore, emotionally taxed, and not herself right then. All of which had her coming back at him sharply, “Of course I didn’t _want_ him going out to take care of this. I never _want_ him to walk into a situation he might not walk back out of.” 

She looked at Din for a beat, “Just like I don’t want you to either. Especially not while you’re still recovering from injuries that had been a hair shy of critical.”

“I’m fine.”

“Funny. So am I.”

“Pari.”

“No, Din. I’m serious. I didn’t nag you about staying back when Rherr asked you if you wanted to go. I figured you could give me the same consideration.” He sighed, and she said, “ Look, I have a headache, my shoulder is tender, and my whole body is like one big throbbing ache, but I’m not risking my health—my _life_ —by being out here sweeping the floor.”

“Pari, they were _soft_ , not even a challenge.”

“All it would take is one _soft,_ lucky hit to shove one of those broken ribs straight through your lung.”

“I’m _fine.”_

“You keep saying that.”

“Because I am.”

“Are you?” she challenged and smacked his side just hard enough to prove her point.

Stifling a grunt, Din captured her wrist in a tight grip, shoving her hand away.

She quirked an eyebrow. “Thought so.”

“Come inside.”

“No.”

The black T of his visor fixed on her as he stood there. He didn’t say a word. Pari felt like she was on the receiving end of a smoldering stare, and she had no hesitation in rising to the challenge.

Stomper chuffed through his bucket of oats. Trees creaked and groaned in the breeze. The hoot of an owl called out from somewhere in the woods, and they stood there, silently glaring at each other for a second longer. Then, without saying a word, Din turned on his heel and marched off.

He was giving up? Pari couldn’t believe it.

“Are you kidding me?” she shouted at his retreating form. “You run headlong into a fight with Jett and his knuckleheads, but turn away from one with just me?” Standing in disbelief at how fast he had caved, she kept watching his departure until he was almost at the door.

Turning around, she pressed a hand to her aching head. Exhaling hard at how quickly the argument sprang up between them, she chucked down the broom. The wooden handle bounced off the duracrete floor with a snapping recoil.

The barn lights cut out, and she was plunged into darkness.

Throwing out her arms in disbelief, she spun around, “Din, what the fuck!”

She didn’t get a reply. He was probably storming halfway across the yard by now. Regardless, she couldn’t help calling out into the darkness. “Real mature. I can still finish, you know!” She waited for a second, hoping for a reply she knew would never come. “All I have to do is go turn the lights back on!”

Pari cursed to herself in the silent darkness. Glancing to her side, she thought about where she’d thrown the broom down and gave the general area a wide berth as she started feeling her way towards the front of the barn. Pupils blown wide, she was making a mental note to add a security light to the rear half of the barn when she picked up the soft sound of Din’s hitched gait as he strode back to her.

So, he hadn’t left after all.

Knowing Din could see perfectly fine with the HUD in his visor, Pari planted her feet, crossing her arms over her chest. “What now, Mando? Are you coming to throw me over your shoulder and haul me out of here?”

He didn’t answer, and she gestured wildly toward the front of the barn, “Would you just go turn on the damn lights.”

Something hit the floor by her feet and then bare hands grabbed her face, holding her still as Din’s lips crashed against hers. His lips. Din’s lips were pressed to hers, moving against hers, practically consuming hers, and they were soft and warm, and full. Everything she had imagined them to be.

Pulling in a startled breath, she was stunned at the force of the kiss as it had her staggering backward. Her back knocked against the half door to the pen behind them, and she didn’t think, she just grabbed Din by the arms, her fingers gripping onto the short sleeves of his flak vest, and pulled him in. The tip of his tongue flirted with the line of her bottom lip. His _tongue_. Stars, his fucking tongue was touching her lips, seeking access into her mouth.

Her response was automatic as she parted her lips for him, her tongue meeting his halfway. This was Din, without the helmet. Savoring the feel of his tongue on hers, her knees went weak at the thought that she could _taste_ him. Maker, and _all_ of the stars within his dimension and hers, she could fucking taste him, and it was the best thing she’d been gifted with for such a long time.

Pari pulled him again, and his arms wound tighter around her, pressing their bodies together until there wasn’t a hair’s breadth between them. Shoving her hands through his thick hair, she plunged hard into the kiss. It pulled a deep, throaty groan from him and he stepped between her legs. His hips thrust against hers, pinning her against the pen door and when his thigh grazed her in just the right way, she thought she’d melt into a thoughtless puddle, right there on the spot.

Din’s hands landed on her upper arms, firm and gripping. They arched her backward over the top of the stall door. Draping his front around the curved posture he forced on her, he broke away from the kiss. Cradling the back of her head, he leaned over her, fucking claiming her with his position. His face was close, so close, and she could feel his warm breath on her mouth, her cheek, her temple, and she felt like prey as she waited for him to strike. Then, her earlobe got captured by his mouth, warm and moist, against the chill of the night.

His tongue traced over the delicate flesh, and her stance faltered. Pari sagged against the strong thigh wedged between her legs and groaned, tipping her head to the side as the heat of his mouth seeped through her, crashing into her somewhere deep within.

One arm holding him close, Pari found the side of his face and stroked back, running her hand through his hair again. She already knew it was dark, but the flippy locks long enough to curl up at the edges of his ears and the back of his neck were a treat to discover. She grabbed a handful of the strands that, up until then, she’d only been able to reach with her fingertips. It elected a throaty growl from Din as his lips traveled a slow descent down her neck. Starting behind her ear, his tongue flicked her earlobe once and then trailed down the side of her throat with sensual nipping kisses.

The passion of the moment had her chest heaving as she nudged her face against his, forcing his head to the side. A soft breath was exhaled as he moved, and she started mouthing the side of his neck and, _fuck,_ she could not get enough of his taste. His skin felt hot, and there was a tinge of saltiness that hit her tongue as she sucked on the cords of his neck. Knowing that it was from the sweat that came with kicking ass and taking names, it was enough to make her moan and bite down. Tipping his head back with a soft gasp, his hands fell and gripped her ass. Hauling her off her feet, he propped her against the stall door and ground his pelvis into hers.

A flash of hot pleasure jolted through her as the hardness straining behind the zipper of his pants raked against her most sensitive parts. Arms falling around his shoulders, she held on as he rutted against her again. Grabbing his face, she tipped it up toward her, holding him there as she lowered her mouth down over his. Her lips lapped, pulling against his once, twice, three times before she found his tongue and drew it into her mouth.

It was when her palm brushed the scruff of his jaw, and she drank in the lovely scrub of facial hair lining his upper lip and chin, that her brain woke up, screaming at her to think about what exactly was going on.

Pari was barely able to pull herself out of the moment as she pushed him back. Her feet landed on the floor, and she groaned internally before panting, “Din, stop.”

He pulled back but remained close enough she could feel his warm breath as he asked, “What’s wrong?”

“What’s wrong?” she tossed back as a burst of incredulous laughter bubbled out. “Think about this. Your code. Think about what you’re sacrificing.”

His lips pressed against hers, and she could feel the smile in the kiss. “Can you see me?”

She blinked, “No.”

“Then I think we’re okay.”

He leaned in again, and she couldn’t believe that out of the two of them, it seemed like she was the one more worried about his vows. Her palm planted firmly against his chest, blocking him. “Are you sure it works that way?”

“Interdimensional loophole,” was all he said before his arms drew her against him, and she pushed him back again. Din sighed. “Do you want me to stop?”

“No.” Her answer was swift and firm, and maybe just a little bit desperate. “But I want to make sure you’ve taken the time to really think this through. What does this mean for you, for the vows you took, for the Way that you follow?”

His hands rubbed up and down her arms as his brow settled against hers. “Look, I had a few long talks with Rherr over the last two weeks. About his Tribe. About their views on Mandalorian customs.”

“Okay.”

“They’ve been _good_ talks.”

_“Okay…”_

There was a huff of amusement, “You really want me to lay out all of the details right now?”

The side of his nose nuzzled alongside hers, and she grinned against his lips, “Not especially. I just want to make sure you’ve thought this through.”

“I have. A lot.”

“And you’re sure?”

“I’m positive.”

She brushed her lips against his. “You’ll fill me in later?”

“I will.”

“Okay, then.” The hand holding him back fell away from his chest and his mouth reclaimed hers as she fumbled for the latch on the pen door. It gave way, and Din tugged her close as they stumbled into the empty pen.

Even in the dark of the barn, she knew where she was going. Pulling him along with her as she backpedaled, Pari directed their path toward a pile of fresh straw she had mounded along the wall. Moving until she felt it against her calves, she was going to pull them down, but then it was his turn to break away from her mouth, panting, “Wait.”

“What?” Hands holding his shoulders, she felt the motion as he looked behind.

“Wait just a second.” He kissed her lips. “Don’t go anywhere.”

Then he was gone. Pari didn’t know what he was up to but decided to take advantage of the pause and went for the saddle blanket she had on a hook nearby. The barn was heated, but only enough to keep the temperature above fifty degrees. Unless you were covered in fur or hair, like her clients, it was still damn chilly in there during the winter months.

Feeling her way along the stall, she found the pile of straw again and laid the blanket to the side.

A clank followed by a curse came from the aisle.

Wincing as she thought about the abandoned broom, Pari called, “You okay out there?” There was nothing for a long moment.

Hands landed on her shoulders. Jumping, she spun around, “Din, geez!” Pari gasped as her heart thundered in her chest. “Make a sound or something!”

“Sorry.” His soft chuckle told her he wasn’t. That had been deliberate. Anyone else, she would have been annoyed, but seeing his playful side emerge, it made her too soft to complain.

Instead, she trailed her hand up his arm, finding the back of his neck, and gave a tug. “Come here.” He leaned in, and she pulled them down on top of the thick pile of straw, asking, “What were you doing?”

His nose brushed against hers, “Finding my helmet while I still had an idea of where it was.”

Pari pressed her lips to his once. “Smart.”

A hum of acknowledgment and she was pulled close. Just like a moment ago, the tip of his nose flirted with the side of hers right before his lips touched down. The kiss was soft and lingered long enough for them to pull in another breath of air before he broke it off.

Pari reached out and found the sides of his face, pulling him back in. Din followed her lead and his mouth pressed against hers. His embrace surrounded her, drawing her impossibly close, making her feel both dizzy and safe.

She started to pull up, and he broke away again. There was a pause, and then his mouth crushed down, harsh and claiming as his arms tightened around her. One hand slid across her back as the other was pushing through the hair at the side of her head. The movement of Din’s lips against hers overrode her senses, making her arch back over his arm. Stretching, he chased after her, holding the back of her head as she exhaled a moan straight into his mouth.

It seemed to spark a fire in him, as his hand fell from her hair and dropped down to find her breast. He squeezed, and she turned her head, gasping his name as he pinched the nipple. Her hips rose and ground against the thigh settled between her legs. Din’s head fell against the side of hers. The hungry sound he breathed by her ear made it seem like he got as much out of the movement as she did. 

Cupping the side of her jaw, he sucked on the tender bit of flesh behind her ear as his pelvis pressed against her hip. The feeling of him swollen and hard, straining behind the material of his slacks, was quickly becoming one of her favorite things in life. Din was busy sampling the edge of her ear as she snaked a hand between them and gave him a nice tight grope right where it counted.

His mouth pulled off her ear as his soft gasp whispered over the moisture left there. It felt warm and cold at the same time, causing an involuntary shiver to roll through her, and she could feel him smiling against her skin as he kissed his way down her neck. Lingering in the hollow of her throat, he sucked against it a couple of times before his tongue was trailing a delicate line up her throat.

Pari’s hands held the sides of his head as he traveled north. Sliding her fingers through his hair, she felt the soft, wavy length of it as his tongue found her chin and ran across her bottom lip. His mouth settled over hers again. Drawing her lip in, he gave it a nipping bite. 

She moaned into his mouth for a second time, pushing her aching warmth against his thigh. The warmth blossomed into a jolting heat that fluttered and twisted into her lower belly. Her hands roamed up his arms, over his armor, up his neck, and back down. Landing on his hips, she hauled them against her.

He responded with a hard thrust, and she grabbed the sides of his chest plate, tugging at it. “Take this off?”

Din leaned back. There was a grin in his voice as he bargained, “I’ll remove my layers if you remove yours.”

“Deal.”

He pushed off her. There was a minute between them of clanking beskar and rustling garments.

Pari finished first, laying back against the mound of straw, and then his weight was settling on top of her. She grabbed the saddle blanket, pulling it over them. It covered them only partially, but between that, the straw beneath them, and the heat they were generating, it would be plenty.

Din arms wrapped behind her shoulders and held her. His lips pressed a soft kiss to her forehead as her hands were roaming over his sides, and Pari asked, “Honestly, did you get hurt at all tonight?”

His forehead settled against hers. “No. A little more sore than before going, but not hurt.” He gave her another one of those slow, lingering kisses. “I’m okay.” Another kiss. “Are you?”

Pari dragged her nails down his spine, and he pressed himself against her thigh, hard and warm, and she blew out a tight breath. She had to swallow before answering, “Headache; sore, but I’m okay, too.”

His smooth lips dragged across her cheek and he nibbled on the corner of her jaw for a second. Pulling away, he drew himself up over her as his fingertips brushed along her hairline a few times. Din’s voice rumbled softly, “I’m so damn sorry you got caught up in that blast tonight.”

She looked up at where his breath had ghosted down over her. “Please don’t.” His hand trailed over her hairline again, and she told him, “Please don’t beat yourself up over this.” A conflicted sigh came from above, and she asked, “You went with my brother and took care of things?”

His hand stroked over the side of her head. “Yes.”

“Jett is dealt with?”

His body tensed against hers as his voice dipped lower, “Yes.”

Pari ran her hands over the tight muscles of his back before finding the outside curve of his shoulders. She squeezed and took him by his neck. Pulling him down to her, she kissed him. “Did you make sure it would never happen again?”

His mouth moved against hers for a second longer before he pulled back. Pressing a kiss to her temple, his answer came out soft and rough at the same time. “Yes.”

Capturing his face in her hands, Pari stroked her thumbs over the corners of his mouth. “Then, you fixed it.” Dragging her fingers through his hair, her hand landed on the back of his neck. Bringing him down to her again, she kissed him and spoke the words he’d given her just the other morning. “Now, let some of it go,” another kiss, “—with me.”

Din seemed to waver until she ground her hips against his. The sensation dragged him out of his head, and then he was trapping her in his arms as he dove into her kiss. Frustration and worry bled into his movements as they became possessive, wanting, and a little bit harsh. 

Pulling back, his hand retook her breast. He squeezed as the warmth of his mouth locked down over the nipple. Arching back, she breathed out a gasp. Her hips pushed up against his as she sought him out with her hand, closing him tightly within her grasp.

Din grunted from where he sucked her breast, and his hips bucked, thrusting himself into her grip. She wasn’t gentle as she stroked her hand along his length, giving the head a snug twist. His teeth skimmed over her nipple, and she arched back again from the electric pleasure it sparked.

His tongue smoothed over the hard nub, giving it a flick as she was forcing her tight grip over the hot, silky head of his cock. Dragging her thumb through the slit, she smeared through the slickness of his precum, and squeezed.

Pulling off her breast with a growl, he pumped hard into her fist as his mouth latched onto her other breast. Taking in a generous mouthful, his hand dipped below her navel, and he groaned as his fingers found her wet and swollen. Sucking her breast hard enough to feel uncomfortably splendid, he pushed into her hand once more, his fingers cupping overtop her throbbing heat.

Surfacing from her chest, his hand fucking _gripped_ between her legs. He was close enough now that she felt his breath on her face. “Is this for me?”

“Stars, yes.” Pari pushed up against his hand, “All for you. Take it all.”

A deep rumble resonated from within his chest as he stroked the outside of her folds with a feather-light touch. It felt teasing and promising, all wrapped in one. It left her aching for more. Moaning his name, Pari tilted her pelvis up, and he slipped a couple of fingers into her core, stretching her just a little and making her mewl.

Leaning forward, she laid a trail of kisses along his chest until she found his nipple and sucked hard against the defined muscle behind it. Wrapping her hand around his cock again forced a strained exhale out of him. He was pulsing in her grip, and she plunged down his length to the base and stroked up with a rough yank. A soft, slightly broken sort of cry landed by her ear as he thrust into her grip again, then he was pushing her shoulders down into the straw and landing on top of her.

Drawing his hips back, he slid against her most sensitive parts, spreading her slick wetness over himself. His mouth found hers as his hips drew back. Kissing her deep and hard, he rocked forward, forcing a moan from them both. Pari waited for him to draw back again, and then her hand grabbed him, angling him as he pushed forward again. He slid inside of her, a curse fumbling past his lips, breathless and hoarse as he sank in deep. For a moment, they just laid there, breathing and being as near to each other as possible.

Din’s face brushed against hers as his arm snaked behind her neck, drawing her into his chest. Tipping her head back over his arm, Pari found his lips in the solid blackness surrounding them. Kissing him once, she parted her lips and pressed her mouth against his. Pushing into her as far as he could, Din breathed a soft moan into her mouth and began to move with slow, purposeful motions.

Caught within his embrace, Pari moved with him, feeling protected and safe. There was a whole galaxy out there somewhere, but for right then, in the dark of her barn, there was only them. Time stopped as his body pressed down over hers, entrapping her, stroking over her with soft touches and tender kisses. She knew the world would continue to spin with or without them, but for right then, everything seemed to have stopped, giving them an eternity all to themselves.

Her name whispered past her ear, then his lips were pressing against the side of her neck. Pari wrapped her legs around his waist, and Din’s hands slid to her shoulders, pulling as he thrust into her heated core. His pelvis bottomed out against hers. Rocking her hips up, plunged him a touch further, and he bit down on her shoulder with a throaty groan.

Sheathing himself to the hilt, he was buried impossibly deep, allowing her to feel every twitch and throb he made inside of her. Din ground himself over her clit as his hand moved to her breast, grabbing a healthy handful, he squeezed. He started to back out of her, and she clamped down, squeezing him with her walls as tightly as she could manage. A choked off groan came from her shoulder and he slammed into her.

Crying out from shock and pleasure, Pari dropped a leg, hooking it around his. Using him as leverage, she grabbed his ass, drawing him down, and started moving against him. Burying his face into the crook of her neck, Din matched the pace she instigated. Rolling her hips with his, every time he pulled back, she arched up from beneath, keeping him trapped deep within.

Din’s hand reached back and grabbed her behind the knee. Drawing it up, her ass partially left the bed of straw as he lifted, pumping in and out of her with a pace that promised to send her straight into oblivion. He was fucking every rational thought right out of her brain. All she could process was him. He surrounded her, igniting all of her senses, and all she wanted forever was his embrace and his taste, the feel of him, the sound of him, everything about him.

Hiking her leg higher, his movements became long and slow on the drawback with a responding inward thrust so hard, her lungs forgot how to work as she gasped out his name on a broken cry. His mouth crashed down over hers as he slammed into her again, and the swirling, twisting, fire in her belly grew into something uncontrollable as her orgasm built. Clawing at his shoulders, Pari could only hold on as his driving thrusts enticed it to sprint closer.

Face buried into the side of her neck, his mouth latched on as he breathed soft, needy sounds. He drove into her once, then twice. With a final drive, Din bit down. A deep, grating shout pulled from his throat as he crushed her body against his, shuddering in her arms throughout the duration of his release.

Hearing him coming undone like that set off her own climax a step behind his and she tossed her head back over his arm, shouting for him, as the feeling crested with an unbearable intensity. He moved inside of her, and the feeling it flamed was electric and alive as it hunted her, chased after her, and for one moment, the world was stripped clean of everything that wasn’t them. Pari cried out for him one last time as it found her and consumed her.

She was choked by a rush of emotion and couldn’t talk; she could barely breathe. Instead, she took his face into her hands, pushing her emotions into the kiss, and he reciprocated hungrily. The rush of this was so much more for her than just a pleasurable orgasm. It was pain and joy, strength and weakness, all tied together by the fear of watching him go where she couldn’t follow. The intensity of it all suffocated her, threatening to reduce her into a messy pile of tears.

Pressing her face into his chest, she held her breath, holding them back for a long as she could, but all of it right then was too much. The spectrum of events that happened that night was all over the damn place. She’d been almost blown up, worried over his and Rherr’s hunting trip, fighting with Din, and then being properly fucked by him and it all of it surfaced at the same time. It was too much, and she had no control over the desperate breath her lungs dragged in before a silent sob slipped past her lips, then another before her feelings completely overtook her.

Pari hated the loss of control and told herself to get a grip, but all she could do was try to stifle her tears as her body trembled in his embrace. She was afraid if she didn’t pull up soon, Din would think it was something that he had done, but then his arms were wrapping around her, gathering her into his chest. Din’s lips came down over the crown of her head, pressing a soft kiss against her hair before tucking her under his chin, and just holding her through it.

Arms banding around his sides, Pari held onto him as tightly as she dared without hurting him and just cried for a moment, hot tears rolling down her face as she came apart. Din’s hand moved to the back of her head, his fingers rubbing through her hair with a light touch as his head dipped. and the side of his cheek nestled against her temple.

It took a moment for the deluge of emotions begin to recede, and Pari’s hands roamed over his back, her fingers trailing over the dip of his spine. Trying to reel it all back in, she nuzzled her forehead into the crook of his neck and drew in a couple of shaky breaths.

Stomper chittered in the stall beside them. His hoof stomped against the floor a couple of times, and Din’s jaw rubbed against her head, “Want to keep it down?” his quiet voice rumbled. “The neighbors are starting to complain.”

Pari broke out into a sloppy, wet laugh. She could feel him smiling against her. Pulling away, she scrubbed her palms over her face, wiping her tears. “Maker, I’m sorry.”

“Why?”

 _“Why?”_ she looked into the darkness above her, “Leave it to me, to have some world-shattering sex and then royally kill the mood with an emotional breakdown.”

Settling beside her, Din’s hand found the top of her head. Slipping over the side, it came down to cup her jaw. “The mood was not _killed_.”

Sniffing, she rolled onto her side to face him. “You sure about that?” she asked, running a hand over the muscles of his chest. “Nothing says I had a great time quite like crumbling into a sobbing mess.”

Din slipped a hand through her hair. “I think you hollering my name, multiple times, before and during your climax is more reliable in deciding if you had a good time.”

“Okay.” Cracking a grin, she nodded through another sniffle, “We’ll go with that.”

Pari ran a hand over his arm as she looked around at the darkness for a second. Trailing her fingertips to his shoulder, she reached up, brushing her nails along the scruff of his jaw.

Din breathed a soft sound that could have been based either in contentment or unease, and she asked, “Is it odd for you? I mean, am I... touching you too much?”

She started to pull away, but he found her hand and pressed it back against his face. “It’s—intense, but nice. I think I could get used to it.”

Pari smiled. “You’ll say something if it gets to be too much?

“I will.”

Stroking her thumb along his cheek, Pari moved forward again, feeling his hand slide down her forearm as her fingers reached into the thick wavy strands of his hair. His hand gripped her arm the slightest, and Pari let her hand just settled there for a moment. “I should have asked you sooner.”

“What.”

“If it was too much.”

Din’s hand squeezed her arm, his thumb rubbing the inside of her elbow, “It’s the first time you’ve been able to touch what lies under the helm.”

“Yeah, but. I mean,” she grinned. “You’re covered from head to toe in layers. Any kind of touch must be intense for you.” Stopping, she thought, then started backpedaling. “Then again, I’m just embarrassing myself by blatantly assuming being touched isn’t something normal for you. I shouldn’t have—I didn’t mean to assume—” A couple of his fingers landed over her lips, cutting her off.

“It’s not something common for me. I’m not a virgin. I’ve had sex before, but... this, the way we are, the way you touch me. Being intimate like this—that...is a first for me.”

It hurt her to hear how hard it was for him to get the words out. It hurt to hear that she was the first to show him what it was like to make love instead of having just a lustful fuck. Shifting closer to him, she moved her fingers through the hair by his ear. Rolling the soft locks between the pads of her fingers, she pressed a soft kiss to his lips.

Leaning into it, Din’s hand squeezed around her elbow. They stayed like that for a few more moments before the settling chill in the barn got to her. She shivered against him. Breaking off the kiss, his lips landed on her forehead for a quick peck. “Want to head inside? I’m hungry, and I need a shower.”

Tucking the lock of hair behind his ear, she smiled into the darkness before her. “Yeah. I think I could get behind both of those.”

~~

A fog of condensation coated the mirror in Pari’s guest refresher as Din stood at the sink and stepped into a clean pair of slacks. His face pinched in a grimace as he bent. The stabbing ache in his ribs, annoying and persistent, was more profound than before he had left. Hiking his pants up to his hips, he let them hang there as he leaned over the sink and swiped a palm over the mirror.

Turning a little, he carefully probed the area as he examined the faded bruising that still marked his side. He’d been honest with Pari when he’d told her he wasn’t injured any more now than before he’d left, and touching the broken areas of his ribs, he confirmed that. More sore? Definitely. Taking that hit with the cue stick, then later when Jett got grabby, both had aggravated where he was still healing. It was nothing new for him.

Laying around, staying out of action until he healed a hundred percent? Din couldn’t remember the last time he’d been able to do that. He couldn’t remember the last time he had _wanted_ to do that. For close to twenty-five years, he was too used to fighting, working, moving, pushing through as soon as he was physically able to. Now, thinking about living any other way, anything less than always having something to do, some sort of responsibility to fulfill, some type of mission to complete, he was pretty sure it would quickly drive him insane. It is one of the many reasons he was glad to have the opportunity to join Rherr’s Tribe.

Din thought about that as he moved carefully to pull his shirt over his head. Joining the Tribe would ensure a nearly unfathomable amount of protection for his foundling. It wouldn’t be just him anymore, and while he just got done thinking about the torture a sedentary life would bring him, he couldn’t deny that his body had been run ragged. Day in and day out lately, he’d been ridden hard and put up wet, and he could feel the strain of rarely being able to get a decent moment of quality rest for over a year.

He closed the catches to his flak vest, thinking over the conflict he felt at leaving what had fallen into his lap over here, along with the possibility of coming back to find it still waiting for him. A place where his son would be safe, where there was a tribe of Mandalorians hundreds-strong waiting to accept him and the conditions surrounding his child, where he only needed to speak their vows before they enclosed him and the _ad_ into their fold. He’d be coming back to a galaxy where the Empire was extinguished over a half-century ago, and in a completely different dynamic, he had Pari and her family.

The rate in which all these positives had come to light for him was dizzying to put it lightly. It was as if his life was taking a 180 flip. He didn’t dare buy into the certainty of it all working out. Not yet.

 _The return coordinates are not a guarantee._ The professor’s words of warning plagued his mind more times than he liked to admit. More than that, the possibility of not making it back to Pari, it weighed on his heart, and that was a first for him. He had a difficult time processing it. Not just knowing she was here waiting for him, wanting him and worrying for him, but that he felt all those things for her as well.

Looking at the drops of condensation rolling down the mirror, he studied his reflection in the hazy glass. The conflict in his heart showed on his features, and Din told himself to take a step back. Pushing his tumbling thoughts aside, he forced them into their specific compartments and sealed them. One thing at a time, he told himself. Just open one compartment at a time, deal with that, then open the next one in line, and so forth.

Breathing out a heavy exhale, Din grabbed his towel and scrubbed it over his damp hair one more time before hanging it on the rack. Picking up his helmet, he pulled it on and opened the door.

Din stepped out of the refresher and found Pari standing at a counter in the kitchen. Freshly showered herself, she was standing there in a pair of leggings and an oversized long sleeve shirt. Her outfit looked comfortable and warm, and very good on her.

Walking up behind her, Din stood close enough that his chest touched her back as his hands settled over her hips. Leaning back against him, Pari passed a piece of cheese over her shoulder. Tipping his helmet back, he slipped it into his mouth. It was creamy and had a bit of sharpness. It was delicious, and he realized how damn hungry he was.

Resting the lip of his helm on her shoulder, he watched as she sliced through the cooked white meat of some sort of fowl. On the two plates beside her, she had already piled on a couple of different types of cheeses and fruits, a couple he recognized, a few he didn’t. Reaching around her, he got brave and picked up one he hadn’t tried before.

The variety of fruits and vegetables Pari had prepared during his stay had been far greater than he’s had over years of traveling the galaxy alone. So far, he didn’t think there was anything he hadn’t liked. All of it had been better than the tasteless nutrition bars and freeze-dried meals he had grown accustomed to.

Sliding the cool piece of fruit into his mouth, Din couldn’t help closing his eyes around the burst of refreshing sweetness that hit his senses. After eating as he had for the past twelve days, he wasn’t sure could ever choke down another nutrition bar.

Din smiled. His _ad_ was going to flip.

Wrapping his arms around Pari’s waist as she finished up, he breathed in a deep breath, smelling her soap and feeling the warmth of her in his arms, the way her back moved against his front with each breath, it all seemed much too good to be true. All of this was happening for him, and it was good. All of it, it was so good.

Pari brought a hand back, patting the side of his helmet a couple of times and pulled away as she started putting things up. Din grabbed a package of cheese. Sealing it, he was handing it over as the chiming sound of her holocomm rang out from the living room.

Frowning, she looked toward the living room, and he mentioned, “Kind of late to be getting a message.”

The confused frown she was wearing made him think he’d spoken her thoughts. Then it faded, and a look of indifference settled in its place. “Probably just Rherr checking in one last time before he is out for the night.”

Putting away the last of the food, she elaborated, “He won’t expect an answer at this hour, but likes to do a final check-in when he knows something’s going on over here—bad weather, Sash is sick...that kind of thing.”

 _You almost getting blown up..._ Din kept that to himself, but he knew what she wasn’t saying.

Pari went into the living room to check her message. He left her to it as he picked up a piece of the leftover fowl they had the other night. Turning his back to the entryway, he was slipping it past his helmet when Pari called for him. Brushing his hands on his slacks, he walked into the living room.

She was standing in front of the holocomm with an unreadable expression. The fowl settled like a stone in his stomach. “What is it?”

“It was for you.”

“For me?” He blinked and momentarily flashed back to the nightmare he had of his kid a couple of nights ago. But then Pari smiled at him. He noticed how it didn’t reach her eyes.

“It was the professor. He just sent over your coordinates.” 

TBC


	16. Wait for Me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's another long chapter, kids. 12k+ words. Go potty, grab a snack, and then settle in for the next to last chapter in this story. Only one more to go! (sobs)
> 
> Additionally, my eyes are crossing at this point. If you notice any glaring mistakes, please let me know. 
> 
> Translations are at the bottom.

**Chapter 16**

Breaking through the atmosphere on Pari’s Jakku, Din exchanged the bright green canopy of trees and sunshine for the black emptiness of space. Triple checking the coordinates he entered into the Nav for about the fourth time, he took one look at the planet below, and then angled the _Crest_ away and increased the thrusters.

Pushing the _Crest_ through space and increasing the distance between himself and the people the universe had decided to deposit him with, it didn’t feel good. He found it difficult on a level he never had expected and wondered if that was what the tight twisty sensation in his gut was all about. It was much too similar to the feeling he got after leaving his _ad_ with Cara to collect bounties to believe anything different.

Missing people—Din’s head ticked to the left with a tight exhale. He wasn’t used to it. It clogged his mind with memories and concerns, making him have to concentrate on things he used to breeze through on muscle memory alone. It was a distraction, a weakness that had almost caused him disastrous results more than once over the last year since taking in his founding.

He was better at blocking it while he was hunting. It was always easier to force quiet over noisy emotions when the body was engaged in something that required strict mental processing. It was during times like now, when he was alone in the quiet stillness of space, that the noise of his thoughts would find him. That was when his mind drifted the most.

Trying to keep busy as the ship piloted to its next destination wasn’t much of a help as available chores within the ship fell into the category of mindless monotony. Cleaning his armor, his weapons, tinkering around with ship repairs, or cataloging provisions and supplies, none of that was engaging enough to keep his mind from getting tangled up with his heart. He would catch himself doing things like wiping down the same piece of blaster stock for long minutes as his thoughts wandered to his _ad,_ wondering what he was up to, hoping things were quiet, and if they weren’t, running through the route of star systems he had laid out for Cara to flee to.

Now, on top of looking forward to seeing his kid again, Din found himself feeling slightly anxious over the fact that he was not only leaving Pari, but he was also departing galaxy entirely. Leaning back in his seat, he let his mind process as the Nav continued calculating for the hyperspace travel that would intersect the interdimensional wormhole.

Their relationship had come about like the ground falling away beneath his feet, sending him tumbling into something that he was having a hard time defining. Something much more than acquaintances or friends, he didn’t know what else there was beyond that except for love, but he couldn’t make that leap just yet. Not yet. That didn’t mean he hadn’t made any sort of jump at all.

He had and afterward found himself experiencing new feelings on a different level, things like fond affection, desire, and even passion. As he told Pari, he had… _experiences_ in his past, but none of them had been anything like he had with her. Even with the few individual flaws that had surfaced between them both, it wasn’t anything that made him want to throw in the towel. If anything, it had the opposite effect, making him want to understand her more deeply, what she struggles against, and how he could maybe carry some of that for her.

Mulling it all around in his mind, Din didn’t hold any illusions that things would continue to be nothing but contented and exciting. Being a realist, he might not have vast romantic experience under his belt, but he’s seen plenty of other couples. He was aware of the ups and downs that come with any serious relationship. Taking into consideration how he’d come to learn Pari’s stubborn streak was strong and not too far off from his own if they continued down the road they were headed, he knew challenges were bound to arise. It was just an eventuality when two elemental forces on their own path merged to create a new one. There were bound to be a few sparks.

It still didn’t make him want to walk away. In stark contrast, it made him want to hold even tighter onto what they had, and that concerned him. He was falling hard, and he never liked the prospect of free falling without the weight of the Phoenix on his back. Still, the way things were developing between them, he was beginning to think he’d rather take the chance of falling until he hit the ground instead of playing it safe and possibly missing out on one of the best things he could have had in his life.

The alert tone of the Nav called out and Din leaned forward to look at what it had calculated. He took his time and checked the coordinates. Raising his eyes, he looked at the stars in Pari’s dimension one last time before pressing the key that accepted the course details. The Nav confirmed he was locked in and Din sat back, watching the stars become long streaks over the clear canopy of the _Razor Crest_ as the ship got sucked into hyperspace.

The bright swirling cloud of the wormhole surrounded him, and he let out a long exhale. One part of his heart left behind, he focused on the other part he was racing toward. As hard as it was for him to walk away from Pari, he couldn’t wait to get back to his kid. He missed him. He’d already been gone two weeks hunting before getting sucked into the other galaxy. Held hostage over there for two weeks, it had been almost a month since he last saw him. It doubled the longest time they’d been apart since becoming _buir_ to the little guy.

A long trilling whine from the Nav warned of an unplotted course change, and Din cinched up his harness. If he had been in the cockpit that first night, he would have been alerted to the alteration in his set course. Now, as the ship got sucked into the perpendicular interdimensional pull, Din winced from the force of it, thinking he would never have had the chance to pull out of hyperspace in time to avoid it that first night.

Closing his eyes, Din grunted at the force pushing down on him as the ship was ripped out of the wormhole and thrown into another. The swift change in direction put a strain on the inertial dampeners. They were designed to reroute the majority of the gravitational stress on his body, but it wasn’t perfect, and the ship shuddered from the intensity of it. Regardless of the extra precautions he’d taken in securing things below, he heard a few tinny, clunking sounds as things shifted before slamming against the wall of the hull. He was immensely glad not to be one of them this time.

The pressure on his body increased to uncomfortable levels and he had the thought that he would need to talk to his _ad_ about this before they traveled back. The pressure here wasn't as bad as what he'd felt when the Mudhorn was grinding him into the mud. The babe had handled the beast. He seemed to have been fine after his long sleep. He had redirected the fire from that flametrooper. Din was sure holding back the remnants of inertia the dampeners couldn’t handle would be nothing for his kid to wrangle up and control.

Then, almost as soon as it started, it was over. The Nav sounded off in warning again a few seconds before _Crest_ was shoved to the side one final time. The rear of the ship got a little loose, then straightened, as it was dumped into the hyperspace of what should be his own galaxy.

Din took a couple of seconds to catch his breath and let the dizziness in his head ease. It wasn’t a pleasant experience, intense and rough, but theoretically, he’d only have to go through it one more time. Drawing in another deep breath, he exhaled it slowly as the cockpit finally seemed to settle around him. Opening his eyes didn’t make it start spinning again, and he pushed himself up in his seat to adjust the course setting, dropping the _Crest_ back out of hyperspace.

Deep space in his galaxy looked exactly like deep space in Pari’s. He wouldn’t know if he’d actually made it back until he tried to reach Cara on comms. Putting in her chain code, he paused. Finger poised over the button to hail her, he hesitated briefly, nervous that it might not go through _—nervous that it would—_ then hit the button.

Not only did it go through, but she answered almost immediately. He breathed a breath of relief and something else that held a bit of heaviness to it. Happy that he made it back to his kid, he was also a little sad knowing he was about as far away from Pari as he could get. It would be nice when he wouldn’t have to settle for having one while missing the other.

_Soon..._

"Hey, stranger!" Cara’s face projected from the unit, wearing possibly the widest grin he’d ever seen on her face.

Smiling, he gave her a nod. “Hey, yourself.”

Before Cara could respond, a shrilling shriek came from somewhere off-screen, filling the airspace of the cabin _._ The pitch of it made Din wince. Being at ground zero, one of Cara’s eyes slid shut as her head tilted at an awkward angle. “I might be reaching a bit here... but think someone wants to say hi.”

Din’s heart was thundering in his chest as Cara leaned down to help the kid into her lap. Then he was there, staring at him. His eyes were shiny and as large as Din has ever seen them. His poor ears didn’t know what to do as they kept alternating between perked and drooping, rarely moving in tandem.

They sat looking at each other for a second, then Din said, “Hey, womp rat _.”_

A sad little squawk pulled from the kid and sliced straight through his heart. The kid lunged forward, and Din knew he was reaching for his dusty blue image on Cara’s unit.

She caught him before he could tumble off her lap, and the kid got upset. “He’s not really there,” she told him. “You know he’s not.”

The kid knew. All three of them were aware of that fact. Still, who said any sort of rationality came along with a child upset over dealing with seeing the image of a parent who had been absent for almost a month.

Turning back to the unit, the kid just looked at him, then started signing. _Buir. BuirBuir._

Din took a breath. “I’m here, _ad’ika.”_

_Where, Buir? Where are you?_

“Still a ways out.”

That was the last word Din got in edgewise because his kid freaking erupted. It wasn’t a full-fledged tantrum, yet. But it was damn close, and Din spoke to him calmly as his kid had a meltdown a thousand parsecs away.

Cara tried to get him to slow down, but he was shutting them both down as he signed furiously. _No_ , being the most valued word right then, he was effectively being bitched out for being gone so long. After trying one more time to talk to him, Din sat back and just let him vent for another few seconds. Cara gave him a look from over the kid’s shoulder, and Din shook his head.

It wasn’t until the kid snapped at Cara, swiping at her when she tried again to calm him down that Din put a stop to it. Leaned forward in his seat, his raised voice came out deep and stern. “Hey. Enough.”

His _ad_ turned back to his image with tears brimming in his huge eyes. Ears totally plastered against his head, his little bottom lip quivered as he stood on Cara’s lap and stared at him.

Din’s fucking heart _hurt._

Leaning in close to the unit, his voice softened, signing as he spoke. _Listen to me, ad’ika. Are you listening?_

His kid nodded.

Din didn’t need to sign. The kid could hear perfectly fine. However, he had come to realize that his _ad_ paid closer attention to him when he signed as he spoke to him. Maybe it was because that was how he communicated. Din could guess how it would be a comfort when he was spoken to in the same way. 

Working with the babe for close to nine months, learning to sign had become like a game between them. The child loved it. Din was sure finally having the ability to communicate was a large motivational factor in why he picked it up like he absorbed it. As good as he was, he was still just a toddler. His vocabulary not as broad as an adult’s, Din chose his words carefully as he described what happened.

Looking at his son, Din sighed again as he watched the tears begin to slow along with his breathing. The trembling remained persistent. At least now, he was allowing Cara to touch him again as she rubbed the babe’s back with slow motions.

Speaking in a calm tone, he asked, _Listening to me, ad’ika?_

_Yes._

_Good boy. Listen now. I did not want to go. I..._ Din thought. _The Crest was pulled away—far, far away._

Calmer still, the babe’s motions were small with barely any flair. _Buir. You did not come back._

His kid was effectively killing him, and Din needed to take a breath.

Leaning in, Cara rubbed the babe’s back, “He tried to, hon.”

 _I did, ad’ika. I tried_ very _hard. I was taken too far away to come back. Too far to comm. I had to get help. Had to—_

_One message._

Din looked at Cara. “You got it? That message went through?”

She nodded, “Got it a few days ago.”

“A few days ago…?”

The weight of what that meant slammed into him, and he sank back into his chair. That meant he’d been MIA for over a week before they got that message. Looking at the holocomm unit, Din shook his head, “I’m sorry. We didn’t even know if it would go through at all. That message got sent ten days ago on my end.”

“Din, where _were_ you?”

“That’s… a long story. Let me get off here so I can hit hyperspace and I’ll tell you everything when I get there.”

_No. Stay._

Drawing in a deep breath, Din leaned in toward the unit again, “You have to let me go now, _ad’ika.”_

_Stay. Miss you. Buir. Stay. Please don’t go. Staystaystay._

He was getting worked up again, and Din tried to head it off. He really didn’t want to be forced to end the comm with the kid having another meltdown. None of them needed to say goodbye like that.

 _Listen, ad,_ spoke Din.

That little bottom lip was trembling again, and Din put everything he had into it before he lost him again. _Listen_ , _listen, listen. Important. Okay? Listen to Buir._

His kid sniveled as two more tears tumbled down his cheeks, and Din didn’t give a damn how tight his voice sounded as he kept talking to his kid. _Are you listening?_

_Yes, Buir._

_Good boy._ Such _a good boy. Listen now. I want to see you. I miss you._

_I miss you._

_Okay. If we keep talking, I cannot come to you. I need to fly fast in the tunnel of lights. I can’t do that if we are talking. Understand?_

Another two tears. _Yes, Buir._

_Just a little while longer. Then I’ll be there. Okay?_

_How long?_

Din looked over at the Nav. There was no way his kid would understand the length of time, even so, he told him, 3 _hours. Just 3 more hours. We can do that._

His child didn’t respond, and Din asked, _You going to let me go so I can come to you?_

Again, he didn’t answer as he plopped back against Cara. He was apparently done speaking to him. Din didn’t have any false illusions that he wasn’t upset with him. No matter how much he tried to explain, he was still just a kid, a very young kid; logic wasn’t a priority for him right now.

Figuring the current level of damage control was as good as it was going to get, Din looked at Cara. “Three hours. I’ll hail you when I drop out of hyperspace.”

~~

Cara and the child met him out in the shipyard. Walking up to them, the kid was pushing to get out of her arms even though they were still a good ten yards apart. She almost lost her grip on him once, and Din double-timed it to them. He barely got there before the kid scrambled like a feral loth cat—launched himself, caught air—and Din had to pitch forward to catch him.

“Nice of you to decide to finally show up, Djarin.” Cara jeered with a shit-eating grin and gave his right side a hearty smack.

Pain flared. Din stiffened, swallowing a grunt, and then blinked as Cara went skidding backward through the dirt in the shipyard. He frowned, watching her flail a little to keep her balance as she slid back a good four feet. Din shot a look down at his kid; saw his outstretched little arm. Closing it in his gloved hand, he chided, “Hey. Stop that.”

The kid dropped his hand and looked up at him. Scrambling higher, he touched the sides of his helmet as Cara walked back to them. Tears threatening to overspill, the kid clung to him for a few seconds and then pulled back, smacking his helmet. _Off, off, off!_

“How about a hi first?” The child looked up at him and gave him a small little wave. Din smoothed a hand over his head, “Hey, _verd’ika.”_ His kid took a couple of fractured breaths and reached for him.

Bringing him near, Din pressed him against himself and closed his eyes, “I missed you too.”

“You’re hurt,” Cara spoke to him while running her hand over the child’s ear.

He looked at her, “Just a little.”

“How little we talking here?”

“Couple of broken ribs.”

Cara hummed as she gave him an assessing look. Meanwhile, his _ad_ surfaced. Tear stained and hiccupping around broken gasps, he started railing his little hands against his helmet again, _off, Buir. Off,off,off!_

“Hold on.”

_Buir. Off!_

“Okay, okay—"

 _OffOffOff!_ The force behind his kid’s battering little hands was impressive, and Din winced, starting to feel like his head was the clapper on a durasteel bell.

“Hey. Look at me.” Large brown eyes stared into his visor. Din assured him, “I _hear_ you, little one. Hold on.”

Din looked at Cara, “We’re going to need a minute. I’ll meet you there.”

She grinned. Giving the kid’s head a stroke, she told him, “Take your time. I’ll be around.”

Din took the kid back into the ship. As soon as they were closed within the hull, the kid started smacking his helmet again. “Okay, okay!” Din walked through the hull, got smacked a few more times, “Wait, _ad’ika.”_

They reached the table and Din eased himself down into the seat. He set the child down on the tabletop and removed his helmet. “There. Better?”

The child got up, and for a second time in ten minutes, Din was catching him as he jumped off the table at him. The tears were starting up again and Din leaned back in the seat as he pulled his child against himself. The kid burrowed into his neck as Din made soft shushing noises and rubbed his back.

Claws yanking at the cowl, the kid whined, frustrated.

Reaching behind, Din tugged at the closure and pulled it off. Then his foundling’s small arms were wrapping as tightly around his throat as he could manage. Tiny hands pinched either side of his neck as they clenched and released over and over as he cried.

Hugging his son to himself, Din closed his eyes, thinking about what Cara might have told him that week he went missing in action. Din knew the kid would have asked her to holocomm. More than once, he would have asked her to contact him. What reasons did Cara give as to why she couldn’t?

Leaving his kid behind, not seeing him for a month, not knowing if he was okay, it had been one of the hardest things he has experienced. This though? Coming back and seeing how hard his absence had been on his kid. Seeing how utterly devastated he was? This was so much worse.

His _ad_ had already endured so much in his relatively young life. Finding him on Arvala-7 closed up in his pram and set aside among a wall of junk, Din was positive the babe had past experiences with abandonment. He knew how that could have left a gaping hole in the little guy’s soul. He liked to think that their time together might have patched up that hole, perhaps even helped it to scab over, so the rest of him could grow and be happy.

Now though, as his son wept into his neck, clinging to him like he was afraid to ever let him go again, Din couldn’t help but wonder how much damage his absence had done. Did the child’s thoughts carry him away, showing him things too terrible to talk about? Had he thought Din was dead? Or, worse, did he think he’d abandoned him; left him with him Cara and Greef and was never coming back?

Din slid lower in the seat, laying the side of his face against the child’s head as he rubbed his back. Trying his best to soothe him, he hummed a tune he remembered from when he was small.

He couldn’t remember if it came from his parents, or if it came from his _buir_. He’d been so young then, decades later, it was hard to keep those two parts of his life straight in his head as one tended to bleed into the other. Regardless, he had remembered the tune.

Rubbing his hand over his foundling’s back with firm, slow strokes, Din hummed. Thinking back, he remembered how shocked he had been the night the memory had surfaced from the back of his mind.

It couldn’t have been more than a week with the child under his care when the babe had woken from sleep with a screaming kind of wail. Leaned back in his pilot’s chair, feet propped up on the console, Din had woken with a violent flinch, practically falling out of the seat as he lurched to his feet. He found the kid in his pram, reaching for him and looking terrified. He was crying. No, he’d been sobbing, calling out to him with this pitiful sounding cry, and Din had gone to him.

Picking him up, the kid had done much like he was now, clinging to his neck, burrowing as close to him as he could as he cried and trembled in Din’s hands. Up to that point, the Mandalorian hadn’t much experience in caring for the very youngest of the children of the Covert. At times he’d watch _buir’e_ from a distance, taking in how they tended to their children, comforted them, and loved on them.

There came the point in his life where he realized he would never have a child. It didn’t mean he was opposed to the idea, and perhaps his younger self had indulged in the thought more than would have been practical. Growing older within the tribe, acting under the responsibility of being their _beroya,_ and providing for them, he’d eventually stopped thinking along those lines as it no longer did anything but sour his moods and make a job already brutally harsh, that much harder to complete and focus on.

Children just weren’t practical on the path his life had taken. He’d fully come to terms with that over a decade ago. Interesting how the universe rotates, though, and then, out of nowhere he’d become _buir_ to an adorable tiny green species with a heart bigger than the ears on his little head.

Back on that night, his founding had clung to him, crying inconsolably. No matter how long Din walked, bounced, rubbed, shushed, and soothed. Nothing had broken through the kid’s shattered sobs.

Holding fast to his last shred of cool, Din had started to worry that maybe something else was wrong. Maybe what seemed like waking from a nightmare might have been walking from pain, or sickness. All types of possibilities started rolling around his mind, and he realized he didn’t have a freaking clue as to what the hell he was doing. What the hell he was _going_ to do or who he could go to for help.

Somewhere between thinking their problem might not be due to a nightmare and realizing he was all alone in the galaxy with this tiny little foundling, he had started humming. He didn’t even catch on to what he was doing as he thought, desperately trying to whip up a plan of attack as his chest cinched tighter with worry the longer the child continued to wail.

Then, in a shift of atmosphere so sudden he’d swear he had picked up a whiff of ozone, the babe had started to quiet. That was when Din heard himself humming the tune his heart had dragged out of some dark recess in his mind to put to work. And it _had_ worked. With tears soaking his tiny green face, the child had gradually settled into him as he fell asleep in his arms 

Looking down at him, Din had continued to hum. The tune didn’t come back to him in one piece, and he had to make up parts to connect with the ones he could remember. Swaying as he bounced, he watched the child relax even further into his embrace.

Many times, throughout the weeks and months that followed, Din would find himself pulling up the same fragmented childhood memory—stitching in his own melody to fill gaps created a patchwork type of tune. It would turn out to be one of the only ways to calm the child once he’d dived off the deep end.

Now, in the quiet dimness of the _Crest_ , just like those other times over the past year, the babe clinging to him was beginning to relax and settle against him as he continued to hum. Din waited for the shuddering cries to calm and the pinching of tiny hands on his neck to dial back before he risked the movement of pulling back to look at his son.

Fisting the material of his cloak where it tucked behind his chest plate, the child seemed to have drifted off into a restless sleep. Even asleep, stress remained etched into his brow. Frowning, Din stroked his thumb over his child’s furrowed little brow a few times until it smoothed.

The babe drew in a deep hitching breath, his body shuddering from the intensity, and Din sighed. Looking down at his vambrace, he checked the timer busy counting down, 18:43.

He had eighteen plus hours before he absolutely had to head back. Any longer, and his return chances reduced by four percent. He was already down three and a half. He couldn’t risk another four. It shouldn’t be an issue. He needed to arrange the offloading of his bounties and get paid by Greef, their fuel needed to be topped off, he had to visit the old Covert, and he needed to have time to talk with Cara. He could accomplish all that plus a crap-ton more within that eighteen-hour window. Meaning, they had plenty of time to grab a few hours of sack time.

Sliding out of his seat, Din held the kid with both hands, keeping him pressed close. Gravity pulled at the babe as Din stood, and the hand that had been clutching his cloak flopped down over the back of his gloved hand; little guy was properly zonked. Flexing his fingers over the kid’s back, Din rubbed as he walked them to the ladder.

Climbing one-handed was second nature to him by this point and holding the child snugly against himself, he made the ascension to the upper deck. Looking down at where the babe was tucked into the crook of his arm, it felt like a lifetime since he’d walked them through the _Crest_ and, thinking about where he’d been the last two weeks and the tentative promise of safety waiting for them, Din hoped they’d never again be forced apart.

Stepping into his quarters, Din tossed his helmet onto the bunk. It landed on the corner by the wall, and then Din landed beside it. Laying on his good side, he slipped his hand out from around the babe and deposited him on the pillow beside him. Even in his sleep, the little one registered that he was no longer smashed up against him. A small green hand reached out and Din captured it between his thumb and forefinger. Little digits curled around his finger, and Din smiled.

Rubbing his thumb over the back of the child’s hand, he thought about how he needed to message Cara. He knew as soon as he let go, the kid would begin seeking him out again until he regained contact. It was something they’d gone through a few times over the past year when he’s been afraid and insecure. Staring down the Droid named Zero, the battle on Nevarro, and after his unfortunate, albeit brief, partnership with Toro Calican.

That, like the others, had been much too close for comfort. Seeing Calican walk out of _his_ ship with a blaster pointed at a woman, unarmed and innocent, a woman who had been holding his _kid_... Clenching his jaw at the memory, Din had the urge to dig up Calican’s corpse from wherever Peli’s droids had dumped it just to drive another blaster round through its rotting skull.

His kid mewled in his sleep, the soft, distressed sound pulling Din from his thoughts. Looking at his _ad_ , stress lines of worry started to reemerge, and Din forced himself away from the memory and the dark feelings that always found him there.

Stroking over the child’s brow again, he murmured, “We’re okay, _ad’ika_. Sleep.”

The kid smacked his lips dreamily as he reached out and drew himself against his neck again. Din resigned to the fact that they were going to be joined at the hip for a while. Especially with moving to a new place with new experiences. Things would be shaken up for the little guy for a while longer, but Din had a pretty solid feeling that it would all be worth it.

Having the kid curled into him, snuggled up close and warm, was soothing, and soon, he felt the pull of sleep setting. Before he drifted too far, he had to send Cara a message letting her know they’d be delayed longer than he had originally expected. He had to make sure she’d still be around if they ended up taking a few hours to catch back up.

Even though Din had a sinking doubt in his gut, he wanted to give her the opportunity to go with them. Part of him thought the allure of finding a place where she didn’t have to stay in hiding or watch her back anymore would be enough incentive for her to jump aboard. A larger part of him knew she’d never leave their galaxy.

Being Karga’s right-hand man and main enforcer to the Guild, Cara had a good thing going for over here. She was happy. There was plenty for her to do here. That was a crucial component to Cara’s sense of wellbeing.

So much like himself, being a warrior ran true to her core. She needed the action, the excitement, and the rush of adrenaline. Cara was most happy when she was kicking ass and breaking necks and unless she decided to convert and become a Mandalorian—which Din knew she never would—aside from joining Rherr’s Tribe, there wasn’t any other military faction or similar type employment he could offer her over there that could convince her to leave. As much as he wanted her to go, as much as he would miss her and, _stars_ , his _ad_ would miss her, he knew she would stay. Still, he wanted to give her the option.

Moving slowly, Din shifted the arm under the child until he could access his vambrace. Aside from his kid’s claws kneading the material of his cloak a few times, he stirred briefly but didn’t wake. Yawning, Din brought up the program to send a data message.

D: Hey.

C: Hey back.

D: Going to be delayed a little longer than I planned.

C: No problem. Take your time.

D: Are you on a fixed schedule today?

C: Why, something up?

D: No but it’s vital that I talk with you sometime in the next 4-5 hours. Important. Can’t wait beyond that.

C: You good?

D: Yes.

C: Sure?

D: Yes.

C: Okay. I’ll be around until you guys take off again, so no worries. Get some rest.

D: Will do.

He hadn’t even told her what they were up to. He guessed it wasn’t that big of a reach. He’d noticed hours ago on the holocomm how overtired the kid had been. 

Knowing how both of them could sleep like the dead when they were exhausted, Din decided to set an alarm for three hours, just to be safe.

Laying there in the stillness of his ship with his foundling curled up beneath his chin, Din’s thoughts wandered one dimension over. Eyes closing, he thought about Pari and wondered what she was doing. He thought about last night, the way it felt to kiss her and to be kissed by her. Closing his eyes, he pulled up the memory of her fingers running through his hair, grabbing it, and playing with it. He could still feel her fingertips scratching along his jaw. He could almost smell her, could almost feel her lying next to him, and it was soothing. In just a few hours, he’d be back with her. Focusing on that, he drifted off to sleep.

~~

Din frowned into his pillow as he was dragged out of a decent patch of sleep, and it wasn’t his alarm that woke him. It was the feeling of something being pressed against the outside of his nostril, closing it off. 

Cracking an eye open, he found his _ad_ sitting above him on the pillow. Leaning over Din, he pushed one of his little fingers against the side of his nose. Then he let go and watched it go back to its natural position. Either he hadn’t noticed that Din was now awake, or he just didn’t care, as he leaned in and did it again. 

Eyes raised to the child sitting above him, Din’s voice came out closed off and nasily as he inquired, “What. Are you doing?”

Large brown eyes shifted to meet his, the babe squealed. Flailing, he smacked Din on the forehead a couple of times. “Ow. Hey.” Din snatched one of his tiny claws, “No hitting, _ad’ika.”_ Giving the kid’s arm a slight tug, urged him into a freefall and the kid dove forward.

Catching his kid one-handed, Din pinned him back against the pillow. Flexing his hand, Din’s fingertips dug into the child’s sides, and the little green monster screamed before dissolving into a rolling belly laugh. The sound of it was hearty and pure. It seeped into Din’s mind, siphoning directly into his soul, and he didn’t try to stop the smile that broke out on his face, nor the soft laugh that followed after.

Stroking his hand over his stomach a few times eased the giggle fit. Din watched him as he rolled on the pillow and faced him. His _ad_ ’s little hand landed on his cheek, and Din told him again, “I missed you.”

The child was laying close enough that Din had to blink to keep his eyes from crossing as he focused on him. Maybe it was because the child had such large eyes, perhaps it was because Din was getting older, but the kid didn’t seem to have the same issue as he leaned in even closer. Patting Din’s cheek, he vocalized a soft little sound, and Din pressed a kiss to his head.

His _ad_ cuddled back under his chin and the throat squeezing started again. Patting his back, Din asked, “You know I’ll always, always fight to get back to you. Right?”

The kid squeezed tighter.

Din wasn’t sure how much the child could understand. He had a sneaky suspicion it was much more than he let on. Going with that theory, he swallowed, telling him, “It’s all I could think about—how to get back to you. I missed you. I worried about you. I couldn’t just fly back to you, and that made me... angry. Mad.” The child pulled back and looked at him, and Din pointed to his heart, saying, “In here. It made me mad, here.”

_I was mad too._

“At me.”

_... yes._

“Are you still?”

His foundling looked at him and smiled, _Happy you are back._

Din smiled back and lowered his head down over his son’s, “Me too.” Pulling back, he drew in a deep, steadying breath. “Hey. Come on. We need to get up. I have something I need to do, and then we’ve got to get back. Cara’s going to come over in about an hour.

_Cara!_

Din fought hard to keep the sadness out of his smile. “Yeah, bud. C’mon, let’s get moving, so we’re not late getting back.”

~~

Walking through the marketplace, Din pulled the corner of his cloak around the kid, keeping him hidden. True, after they wiped out the Imps last year, the social environment on Nevarro had become more stable, safer. There was still something about coming back here that always made Din’s skin crawl. Label it intuition, paranoia, or battle fatigue; he didn’t care which. When he was on Nevarro, he always felt a heightened sense of protection when it came to walking around with his kid.

They passed by vendors, prostitutes, some fucking Jawas— _wonder where they stripped_ those _parts—_ before Din rounded a tight corner. Walking down a short alleyway, he took stock of his surroundings before ducking into the entrance leading to the sewers below.

Walking down the winding stone staircase, Din thought about how he must have walked those steps thousands of times over the years he spent as the _beroya_ for his tribe. Holding his kid against himself, he tried not to think about how this would be his last descent down into the old covert.

It pulled at his heart to reach the bottom and step back into the shadows of his recent past. He almost decided not to come, but a part of him knew it would eat at him every damn day if he didn’t walk the hollow walls one last time and make certain no one was there. It was something he did every time he was on Navarro. Each time he had come up empty and alone. 

Walking the empty path, the sound of his soft footsteps mingled with the ghostly memory of children shouting as they ran through the corridor. He often found it hard to imagine what it must have been like for them growing up encased within the covert without the ability to run outside to play.

Being a child on Mandalore, growing up within the protected walls of the Tribe, Din had never been one to reach out to the other kids. A confusing mixture of insecurity and a pain dug deep by grief clouded his perception of his place within the large mob made up of the other children. Din, more times than not, would try to shy away from the games they would play. That didn’t mean he wasn’t often roped into joining anyway.

Always hesitant at first, nervous for a reason he couldn’t describe, he’d stick out like a sore thumb as he stood to the outskirts of whatever mock warrior game the kids had decided to play that day. Little by little, the more he was included, the easier he could push aside his inhibitions and participate in the fun.

Running through the dusty grounds, feeling the hot sun on his skin as he chased down, ran after, or sought out whatever role was his that day, it had freed him from his grief and uncertainties. Playing hard during those days, he wasn’t a foundling orphaned in a city running red with the blood of the dead. During those times running wild with the mob, he was a child of Mandalore, a member of his Tribe, accepted and wanted—an equal. On those days, he allowed himself to belong.

What must it have been like for the children born after the Purge? Forced indoors, confined within the same narrow stone passages day in and day out, they were unable to feel the warm hard ground beneath their feet or the sun baking their skin. They never got to run, feeling the wind blowing against their bodies.

Din could never truly come to terms with what it was like to grow up under forced confinement like that, and he had tried to alleviate a portion of that monotony whenever he could.

On the few days a month that he actually stayed in the covert to have a short rest from planet-hopping for bounties, Din found time to round up the few numbers of their youth and evoke one of the mock warrior games he grew up playing. Through play, he taught them stealth and hunting skills _—survival_ skills. Among other things, he’d shown them how to lose a tail, how to slip out someone’s hold, how to create an effective distraction, and more.

Most importantly, he had drilled into their young minds how to use their smaller profiles, with their speed and agility, to their advantage. He drilled them on slipping between narrow gaps, running juke patterns, luring a pursuer into a false direction before splitting off in another. All his instruction had come at them in the form of lighthearted play. It was the way children learned the best and he made sure they had absorbed _some_ thing on the days they ran around the dimly lit passageways of the sewers on Nevarro.

Sighing at the memory, Din turned into one of the empty rooms, his _ad_ started squirming in his hold, wanting to be set down. Placing his little feet on the ground, the kid looked up at him, and Din spoke as he signed, _Stay close. No wandering._

_Okay, buir._

Din let his gloved fingertips stroke the back of one large green ear as he stood back up. Keeping the kid in the corner of his eye, he made his way down to the common area. Walking at more than half his normal pace used to seem agonizing as the kid worked to keep up with him. Now, it was just a new normal.

They had barely stepped inside the abandoned space when his kid took off for the corner by the door, squealing in delight. “Wait,” Din cautioned, walking over to check that whatever he’d found wasn’t something that could bite or sting. Din hoped it wasn’t another one of those big-ass beetles. The crunching sound those things made as his son bit down always made him cringe.

Crouching down behind him, Din touched his son’s back, “What you got there?”

Twisting to face him, his _ad_ held up a small stone spinner that belonged to one of the board games the adults used to play. Taking it into his hand, Din rubbed a gloved finger over an etching carved into the four-sided piece. Forgotten about in the dusty corner when everything else had been packed up and relocated, Din couldn’t help the thought that it had been orphaned, not unlike the two of them had once been.

The child reached out with a coo, asking for it without using his words. Din let it slide as he placed it back into his little hands. “Yeah. You can keep it. We’ll take it with us, hm? A little piece of home.”

Trilling with happiness, the babe took it into his hand. Holding his new treasure close to his heart, he followed Din as he left the common area and turned toward the forge room.

Din looked at the babe walking the perimeter of the room as he approached where the forge used to be. Scuffing the toe of his boot against the scorch mark scaring the floor, he wondered when the _alor_ would find a place suitable for the new covert. She had his contact info. He knew she would reach out once she found a place for the displaced remnants of their Tribe.

He thought about how he wouldn’t be around to receive that call.

Looking around the room, he went to the table and sat down. Spreading his hands over the surface, Din thought about setting down that camtono of beskar. The memory of her slight pause before reaching for the ingots had him smiling to himself. It was the only time he could remember seeing his _alor_ hesitate at anything.

A noisy thought pushed its way through the memory, telling him he was about to have a new _alor_. Frowning, he shoved the thought back out of his mind. He wasn’t against it. He just didn’t want to go there right then. He’d give that thought its due attention, later.

A touch to his leg had him looking down. His son stood there. Looking up at him, he reached for him, and Din lifted him onto the table where twenty ingots of beskar once sat. He was handed the stone spinner, and Din took it. Pulling the kid back against his chest, he leaned over him, showing him how to spin it between his hands so it would land on its tip and travel across the tabletop.

Leaning back against him, his kid threw his hands up, accidentally smacking him in the visor in the process. The babe didn’t seem to notice as he clapped his hands, squealing as he’s eyes tracked the piece as it whirled in an unpredictable direction. Slowing, it tipped onto its side, and his founding snatched it back up.

Watching his kid set off the spinner again, Din thought back to the kids he used to play with on Mandalore. He thought about the kids he would train through play on Nevarro. He couldn’t stop himself from thinking of the pile of discarded helmets, stripped of their owners, and left in a pile to be salvaged. He could lie to himself and tell himself he hadn’t seen a few small helmets in that stack. He could try and tell himself he hadn’t immediately recognized who had worn them as they ran and played in the halls of their covert. He didn’t even try to believe the lie.

Din rubbed his kid’s back and blinked past the emotion clouding his vision. Taking a breath, he jutted out a hand, grabbing the spinner before it could tumble over the edge.

Handing it back, Din thought about a different helmet—a blue one. Unsure if he’d seen in it among the others in that pile, he thought about Paz and their last words, his judgments on the choices Din had made in order to provide for their Tribe.

Din wondered if he got away. He genuinely hoped that he had.

Their relationship, strong and loyal to each other growing up, had grown steadily rocky since the Purge. However, even when they locked horns, they always knew they had each other’s backs. Din wondered what the big guy would say to him now if he knew of this new opportunity he’d been handed.

A slow grin tugged the corner of his mouth, thinking how Paz would probably ask him why he was still hanging around. Din could practically hear the conversation verbatim.

_“Explain to me again why you are conflicted about saving your foundling and going to a place where you both will be safe?”_

_“In doing so, I will be abandoning the Tribe.”_

_A rich belly laugh, hearty and loud._ "What _Tribe, beroya?"_

_The statement, cynical in humor, would drive his point home. “Din, right now, what remains of our Tribe is scattered far throughout the galaxy. We’d be lucky to have twenty left within our ranks.”_

_“All the more of a reason for me to stay and help rebuild.”_

_“You always were a dumbass.”_

_“Thanks.”_

_“Beroya, right now, there is_ nothing _left to rebuild. There won’t be for some time. It will be a long wait until the alor decides upon a new location to set up a new base of operations. Then she will need to hunt each one of us down. Those two events could take_ years _. You have a foundling entrusted into your care. Your prime objective, above all else, is to care for that foundling, protect him, and keep him safe—”_

 _“Yes. And also, to reunite him with his own kind. I don’t even know if his own kind_ exists _over there.”_

_“Oh. So, you have found proof they exist in our galaxy?”_

_“No. Not yet, I haven’t. So far, there has not been any trace.”_

_“You’ve discovered this after actively searching for how long?”_

_A sigh._ _“Nearly every day for over a year.”_

 _Paz’s heavy hand comes down on his shoulder, giving him a rough shake. “Don't be a martyr, beroya. Make the smart decision to_ go _. The Tribe will rebuild with or without you. Your number one responsibility is your ad. Go. Keep him safe._ _K'oyacyi, Din Djarin.”_

The Paz in his mind was right. Leaving the galaxy was the right decision for him and his son. He could feel it in his soul and that was the final push he needed to solidify it in his mind. Still, regardless of having made his decision, a part of him wondered what his _alor_ would think when she couldn’t find him after the new covert location was decided upon. After so many failed attempts at reaching him through holocomm, they would search out his last known contacts.

Din considered leaving a message with Cara and Greef to pass along, but then quickly decided against that. If he was going to tear up roots, leaving everyone and everything he and the kid knew behind, he would be damned if he’d risk everything being done in vain. Knowing the Empire with its endless resources and tireless pursuits, it wouldn’t be unlike the those running the show to find a way to punch their way into a separate dimension just to find his _ad_.

No. When he did this, he was doing it all the way. He was doing it _right_. 

Picking up the spinner, Din placed it in the child’s hands and lifted him as he pushed to his feet. He’d come to inspect the covert one last time and make sure there wasn’t anyone here. He’d done that; now it was time for them to leave.

Not unlike all of the empty rooms and hallways, there was nothing left for him down there. He would tuck away the memories and bring them with him but remaining among the ghosts no longer held any benefit for him. Stroking a hand over his child’s head, Din left the forge room.

Navigating the shadowy emptiness with his usual brisk stride, Din said goodbye to the past and climbed the winding staircase that would lead him back to the light.

He did not look back.

~~

“You’re right. I don’t believe you.”

Cara’s response came at him with the same words he’d told Pari, and Din smirked at that. He and Cara had plenty of differences, but they also had many similarities—quickly discrediting highly skeptical stories that defied logic being one of them.

“That’s okay. It’s a lot to process.”

His patient reply made her brow pinch. She looked conflicted—she _was_ conflicted. Din had expected as much. Being sucked out their galaxy and dumped into an entirely different dimension? Yeah, it was a wild tale to grasp. But she’s worked with him enough to know that he doesn’t fuck around. He doesn’t lie, and these two constants pertaining to his character, more than anything else, was what was going to help to seal the deal for her. 

Cara stared at him for a bit. Frowning, the bullshit detector dropped from her tone as she asked, “You’re serious, aren’t you?”

He tilted his head at that, “When have you known me to joke—especially about something like this.”

“Solid point.” She stared at him a moment longer.

Din sat patiently, watching Cara process what he’d told her from the time he’d spent in Pari’s galaxy. A tugging on his pant leg had him looking down. His foundling had a grip on the material as he scrambled, trying to scale the side of his shin. Reaching for him, Din pulled him into his lap.

“Okay, so...” Cara started, and Din looked back at her. Assessing him with her squinty-eyed look, she asked, “Can I see those coordinates?”

“You can,” Din told her, turning to the Nav. “Though, you won’t be able to make heads or tails out of it.” He pulled up the screen and looked back over at her.

Cara pushed herself off the dash and walked up behind him. Looking over his shoulder, she gave a low whistle. “Granted, I haven’t been flying as long as you... but damn, I’ve never seen anything like that.”

“I know.”

Looking closer, she squinted a little bit, “These are the coordinates for your trip back to our galaxy?”

“Ah, no. That’s just the first five lines. There are twelve more that come after these.”

Her mouth dropped open the slightest. Taking a step back, she said, “You know, if anyone else came to me with a story like that— _anyone_ else—I’d tell them to fuck off. But...” She turned to him, her face slack with startling realization, “this really happened.”

“Yes, and—”

“And?”

“And... these aren’t the coordinates to come back here. They’re the coordinates for my return trip.”

“Okay, wait—” Cara took a step back and Din watched her scrub her hand over her brow. “So...” Closing her eyes, she clarified. “Different dimension.”

Sounding more weary than skeptical, he knew she believed him. Now she was just trying to make the pieces fit as she processed the fact that something like that was possible. In one last-ditch effort to push away anything that could negate his story, she asked, “So, like, when you got sucked into this other dimension, did you hit your head? Maybe really hard?”

Din smiled at that. "Yes, but—that's not—Okay, look...” Reaching for the datapad on the dash, he grabbed it, “There are a lot of things over there that are similar to our galaxy.” His head cocked, “A lot that isn’t. One of them is the music they listen to.”

“The music? What, more porno cantina music?”

He laughed. “No. Hold on.”

Powering up the datapad, his son flapped his arms around in excitement. Din looked down at him, “No, we’re not playing a game right now.”

The child looked at him. Blinking those large eyes, he beseeched, “Eh?”

“No. Not right now. I need to show Cara something.”

The screen loaded and Din moved to unlock it. He froze. Hand hovering a few inches from the screen, his heart jumped into his throat as the screen lit up.

Cara stepped behind him to look. “That…” Leaning in close enough for her face to brush the side of his helmet, she laughed, “That is just way too kriffing cute.” Standing up, she added, “Which feels about ten different degrees of wrong. Never would I have ever thought that the word ‘cute’ would be so right in regard to _anything_ having to do with your badass warrior self.”

Din stared at the screen, at how his trusty mono-colored lock screen had been compromised. Instead of the normal deep blue, he found himself looking at a picture of himself with Sash’s smiling face squeezed in close beside his helmet.

He remembered that.

It was one of the first times he’d been well enough to stay awake for most of the day. They were between movies, and she had come up to him as they waited for her mom to find the next one in the series.

Holding up her mom’s datapad, she’d demanded, “Smile!” and then the screen had flashed. You would never be able to tell by looking at the picture, but when she had ordered a smile from him, he’d complied.

“She told me to smile.”

“What?”

Clearing his throat, he tapped the screen. “Sash. Before she took the picture, she told me to smile.”

“Did you?”

“...yes.”

Cara hummed around a thoughtful grin. “I think that picture is the clincher for me.” Din moved to look at her, and she pointed at the picture, “The fact that you have a little girl smashed next to your helmet, getting you to smile on demand...” The corners of her eyes crinkled in a look of fondness. “I can hear it in your voice. You’re happy.”

“To be fair, I was on pain medication, which probably had a lot to do with it.”

Cara snorted. "Sure, tough guy. That must be it."

Ignoring the jib, Din swiped past the lock screen, finding the main screen had also been replaced. It was the same image, although this one had a comment positioned just below in bold letters. It read: **You two goofballs hijacked mine, so I hijacked yours.**

He smiled. Looking at the arrangement of icons on the screen, Din noticed a new one. A folder named _Open Me._ Inside were many picture files along with one document. He opened the document first.

_Hey. Just a few pictures of us, the house, and the grounds. I thought it might help your foundling adjust to moving to a new place if he got to see some of it (of us) beforehand. Safe travels._

_—Pari_

Swiping back to the file menu, Din selected the first picture file. It was an image of Pari’s front yard. In the distance, you could just make out the _Razor Crest_ sitting in her lower pasture. Both Cara and his kid leaned in for a closer look.

Din’s hand settled on the kid’s back. “What do you think, _ad’ika?”_

His kid turned back to him, _Winta?_

“No. That’s not where Winta lives. It’s similar, though. Green; lots of grass, trees, and water. Lots of room to run and play.” He looked from the picture to his kid, “That’s where we’re going next. Look good?”

Nodding, his _ad_ smiled, and Din swiped to the next picture. It was one of Pari in the corral with Stomper. His kid smacked the screen, _What that?_

“It’s called a horse.” He finger-spelled, h o r s e.

_Pretty._

“Yes, it is.” Din nodded, then thought about how he’d have to come up with a sign for that one. Come to think of it, he was going to have to get pretty creative real fast. There were plenty of things in Pari’s galaxy that they wouldn’t have signs for yet. The kid could help with that.

“Okay.” Cara’s voice piped up beside his helmet. “If I wasn’t convinced before. I am thoroughly convinced now because there is nothing that looks like that… and is that _big_ over here. Look at him, his kriffing back comes up to her face!”

The fact that she used the term ‘over here’ didn’t pass him by. She was fully on board, and Din thought about asking right then if she wanted to go with them. Then, decided to hold off for right then. He’d ask after they got through with the pictures.

Looking at her, Din said, “Something else...”

Cara’s gaze flicked over to him, “Yeah?”

Din grinned, “That’s Jakku.”

“Shut up.”

He laughed, “I know. Pari and I went round and round about that one at first. I have seen the maps. That _is_ Jakku.”

Cara jutted her chin at the picture, “I’m assuming that’s Pari?”

“Yes.” Pointing to the picture, Din looked at his kid, spelling, _P a r i._ The babe looked up at him, and Din told him, “A friend.” Then signed as he spoke, _Good. Kind. Safe._

His foundling touched her image, then swiped the screen to the next image. A photo of Sash running out of the barn. He pointed to her and looked back up at him, “Eh?”

“Sash.” _S a s h._

_Good? Kind?_

_Yes._ Din signed, then, “In fact. Damn, I almost forgot...” Turning in the chair, Din’s hand pressed the babe against himself as he balanced the datapad in his lap as he stretched to reach into a bag set along the wall. Digging in it for a moment, he pulled out a stuffed animal. Colored a bright mix of green and blue, the stuffed lizard was just about as big as his kid.

Handing it over, the boy squealed with delight. Din told him, _From S a s h. She heard you liked frogs, said it was the closest she had to one. It was hers. She wants you to have it._

Cooing softly, his _ad’s_ eyes slipped shut as he hugged the lizard to himself.

Din scrubbed a fingertip behind one of his large ears then swiped to the next image. The child squealed again, batting at the screen. “Whoa.” Cara’s head leaned further over his shoulder. “What is _THAT?”_

“Riley.”

Her head swiveled to look at him. Practically nose to visor, she balked, “What the hell is a Riley?”

Din chuckled, “He’s a canine. Trained and extremely docile. His _name_ is Riley."

"What... he's a freaking pet?"

"Yes."

"Who the hell keeps a canine as a pet?"

"Things are... different over there."

"Apparently." Cara was quiet for a beat before commenting, “Looks almost like an Anooba.”

Din nodded. “That was my initial assessment, also.”

“Anoobas are bad.”

“They are.”

She was looking at him again, “The _eat-you_ kind of bad.”

“Yes.”

“He’s not?”

“No. He’s not.”

The kid was blowing spit bubbles on the screen and leaning back against his armor, smacked it two more times.

Cara smiled, “Kid seems to like it already.”

Din agreed, “He has a sense for other beings.”

Still taking up most of his personal space, she looked at him again, “Even if it’s just a picture?”

“Seems so.”

Jabbing his finger against the screen, the child got impatient, demanding, _What, what, what?_

Din looked at him, “I told you. Riley.” He pointed at the screen. “He’s a canine, and his name is Riley.”

_Safe?_

“Yes, _ad’ika_. Riley is safe.” He signed _, R i l e y. Kind. Good._ Then added, _Silly. Goofy._

_Soft?_

Din looked back at the picture. “Actually, yes.”

Moving to the last picture, they found themselves looking at a picture of Pari and Sash. Outside in the snow, their cheeks were rosy from the cold, and they were laughing. He could almost hear it. It didn’t take much to bring up the sound in his mind, and Din replayed it for a moment.

 _“Damn_.” Cara sounded impressed as she stepped back. Looking at him, she asked, “And you’ve got the mom waiting for you back over there?”

“You could say.”

Cara gave him a smug smile and slugged him in the shoulder, “Not bad, Djarin.”

The child tugged at the datapad, and Din let him take it into his hands. Leaning in close, he swiped through the pictures again. Watching him, Cara asked, “So, tell me again, why you are still sitting around this shitty dust bowl?”

“Actually, I wanted to talk to you before we left, to fill you in and to let you know that we were leaving.” Looking at the kid, Din smoothed his hand over his arm a couple of times. This was the hard part and he needed a second to gather his thoughts and choose the right words. “Because once we go back...” He looked at Cara, “We won't be able to come back, and I wanted to give you the option of coming with.

Smile dropping away, she frowned. “It’s a one-way only trip?”

“For the most part, yes. There is a limited window for accuracy with the given coordinates.” Din looked at his vambrace, “Right now, I’m sitting at a ninety-seven percent chance at getting back okay. That holds steady for another thirteen hours. After that, the accuracy drops another four percent, and so forth. Anything below ninety-seven percent becomes too risky. Once we go back, I’m afraid that’s it.”

Leaning back against the dash, she looked at him with this mixed expression of sad-happiness, and Din knew right then. She was staying. She was sad about them leaving, but she was happy for them at the same time.

Drawing in a steadying breath, he confirmed, “You’re staying here.”

Looking down at the floor, she scuffed at it with her boot, saying, “Come on, Din. Do I seem like the type to pack up and jump to a foreign dimension?”

“Well—”

“I mean, what would I be doing over there.” She looked at him, “Come to think of it... what are _you_ going to be doing over there. Because sitting around playing house is not for you. Do they even have Mandalorians over there?”

“Yes. Actually many. Pari’s brother is a Mandalorian. I’ll be joining his Tribe.”

She blinked at that, “Her _brother_ is a Mandalorian? What are the freaking odds of that? You crash land on some hot chick’s property, and her damn brother turns out to be a Mandalorian?”

“Like I said, there are many Mandalorians in her galaxy—on her planet.”

“How many?”

“Rough estimate: Rherr—Pari’s brother—his Tribe alone has over two thousand.”

“Shut the hell up!”

“I know.”

“This has to be like your promised land or something.”

Din grinned, “A hell of a lot better than over here.” Cara gave him another one of those sad/happy expressions, and he said, “Still not sold on it, huh?”

She shook her head, “I’m sorry, guy. I hate to see you guys go—” She looked at the child on his lap. Smiled at how he’d pulled up the game Din had denied him earlier, saying, “— _really_ hate to lose you guys...” Her eyes landed on his visor, “But I... I gotta stick with what I know. I mean if I was still laying low in the forests of Sorgan... I still probably wouldn’t go. It’s not like it’s easy to say that, either.”

“I know,” Din assured. Still, she continued explaining.

“Because I’m going to miss the freaking hell out of you both. It’s just...”

“Hey.” Leaning forward, he touched her arm. “I get it. You’ve got a really good thing going on for you here. It’s not like I’m able to pitch you something similar that I’ve already lined up for you over there.”

Nodding, Cara gripped his forearm, “You know, we’ve only known each other for a little over a year. Right?”

“Yes.”

“Still. You two have grown on me. Maybe helped to better me a little, well—” she cut off. Dropping his arm, she took a step closer and rubbed the kid’s ear, “—this little one has at least. You, Djarin, you mostly just give me grey hair.”

Din smirked. He could read between the lines. He knew his voice would sound off, but he just went with it, replying, “Yeah. Feeling’s mutual, Dune.”

Her eyes were brighter as she grinned at that. Drawing in a deep breath, she ran her hands over her head, declaring with a tremor to her voice, “Yeah. Well, I don’t do goodbyes. I think I’m going to split before you guys decide to take off.”

Din gave her a nod. Clearing his voice, he told her, “Fair enough.”

She drew in another one of those big sighs as she looked at him, and then her gaze dropped down to the babe in his lap. “Hey, squirt.” The kid looked up at her, and she said, “I’ve got to get going now. How about a hug goodbye?”

Din cocked his head, pointing out, “Thought you didn’t _do_ goodbyes.”

She gave him a half-hearted shrug, “Special circumstances and all.”

Taking advantage of his last chance to banter with his friend, Din prodded, “And I don’t fall under those terms?”

Crouching down by his chair, she came back with, “Nope. The kid’s cute. You’re just a pain in my ass.”

Din’s heart was tight and painful, but he grinned.

Cara looked at his kid and rubbed his arms, “How about hug goodbye, bud?”

Pushing the datapad into din’s hand, his kid turned and jumped to his feet. Balancing himself on his lap, his _ad_ grabbed Cara around the neck and squeezed.

Closing her eyes, Cara pulled him close. Sneaking a quick peck to his little green cheek, she told him, “You be a good boy for your dad. Okay?”

_Okay._

“Okay.” Knocking her forehead against the child’s, she said, “Gonna miss you, squirt, but I gotta run. Remember, be good. Okay?”

She pulled back and the child dropped back down into Din’s lap. Waving at her, he signed, _Okay! See you soon!_

Cara froze. Her expression faltered, and Din could practically see her mind stumble as tears filled her eyes.

 _Maker,_ the both of them were killing him.

Taking a breath to settle his nerves, Din exhaled and looked down at his son. “Actually, little one, we’re not going to be able to see Cara for a very, very long time.” He’d tried to keep his voice steady, but those last few words turned flimsy on him. Cara was the best friend he’d had in so long. Leaving without her so they could go to a place where they’d be safe, it was a wicked double-edged sword for him. Leaving her behind hurt.

His foundling’s ears steadily drooped as his little mouth hung open. _What—why?_

“The place we’re going?” Din explained in a soft voice. “The place without the bad people that want to hurt us? It’s very, very far away, and...” Din wasn’t sure where to go from there. There was no way to explain how they were going so far away, where no one could follow. He may have his suspicions about the kid having a larger vocabulary than he let on about, there was no way thought that he’d understand the star mapping for interdimensional travel.

Cara seemed to have figured it out because then she kneeled on the floor by his seat and took the child’s hands in hers. “Hey. Listen...” Eyes glassy, she smiled. To her credit, it didn’t waver. “Your dad’s right. It's going to be a long time, but you’re going on an adventure with your dad! How cool is that? You’re going to a new place with lots of trees and grass to play in. And I saw a pond in one of those pictures. You know what lives near ponds?”

A slow smile crept on the kid’s face, _Frogs!_

Cara laughed, “Yes!” she pinched his side, “Frogs! And a little girl that looks sweet and she’s already waiting for you. It all sounds like so much fun. You and your dad are going to have so much fun.”

_...but. Won’t you be there?_

“No, kiddo. I won’t be there. But you know what? I’ll think about it a lot. I’ll look up at the stars at night and I’ll think about you looking up at the stars where you’re at, and I’ll know you’re thinking about me too. Okay? That can be our thing.”

_Okay._

“And, you know,” she smoothed her hand over his little tummy a couple of times. “It might take a really long time, but I have a feeling I’ll see you again someday.”

The kid's ears perked, _When?_

Din tilted his head, wondering where she was going with this.

Cara just shrugged, saying, “I don’t know, buddy. I don’t know how, either. I just think that, someday, we’ll see each other again.” Smiling, she told him, “Just gotta have faith. Believe.”

_Okay. I believe if you believe._

“Deal.” Cara stood up, saying, “I mean, anything is possible, right? If your dad managed to stumble the _Crest_ into an entirely different dimension...”

Rolling his eyes under the helmet, Din shook his head. “On that note—”

“Yeah, yeah. I’m going.”

Din stood as she stepped back from his chair. They looked at each other for a moment. Holding the child in one arm, Din extended a hand.

Smiling through her tears, she grabbed it and then hauled him in for a hug. Momentarily stunned, and fresh out of arms, he squeezed her hand tight. Her embrace lasted only a second or two, and then she was pulling back. Swiping smoothly at the moisture in her eye, Cara gave the side of his helmet a playful smack, “Stay out of trouble, hm?”

His breaths were heavy and hurt, and he found the same moisture issue affecting his own vision. Smiling through it, he cocked his head, “No promises.”

She laughed. “Sounds about right.” Giving the two of them one final look, she smacked his arm, “Take care of yourselves.”

“Same to you, Cara.”

She gave him a nod, and Din watched her turn and walk out of the cockpit. She made it to the doorway, then turned back. “You think you can send me another one of those holocomm messages when you get there? Just so I know you guys made it?”

“I can. However, you’ll have to remember that it took ten days for my last one to reach you. The chances another will go through will have significantly reduced. So, if you don’t get one, it doesn’t mean that we didn’t make it. Remember that.”

“Copy that.” She gave him a wink. “You boys be safe.”

With that, she walked out of the cockpit and dropped down the ladder to the deck below. A few seconds later, his hull sensor alerted movement as she walked past and down the ramp. Then, she was walking quickly back to town. She never turned back, but he could see the way her shoulders hunched. She had a hand pressed to her mouth the entire way.

Feeling the same, Din stood and watched her until he couldn’t see her anymore.

Sinking down in his seat with a heavy sigh, he reached over and flipped the switch, killing the cockpit lights. It became dark around them, and Din pulled off his helmet. Standing on his lap, the babe’s hands reached up to his face, and Din ducked down a little bit for him. His little fingers rubbed away the wetness running down his face, and Din pulled him in for a hug. Taking a few deep breaths, he thought about what they were about to do. He thought about how he was about to leave everything and everyone they knew in their galaxy behind. In a way, it was a stiff price to pay for peace.

It was a sacrifice. Looking back at the empty path Cara had walked, Din thought about how large that sacrifice was going to be for them. He also thought about what was waiting for them. A whole new crew made up of people who were kind and honest. People who he got to know very quickly and knew would show his child the same type of courtesy, acceptance, and kindness they’d already shown him.

It was going to be good and right for his son. Din could feel that in his soul. He knew it was true—knew he was making the right move.

With everything they were about to experience and endure, in the end, it would all be worth it.

**Translations:**

_ad—s_ on (or daughter)

 _ad'ika—_ little one (son or daughter)

 _Buir—_ dad (or mom)

 _Buir’e—_ parents

 _beroya—_ bounty hunter

 _verd'ika_ —little soldier

 _K'oyacyi—_ A literal command to stay safe.


	17. Immigrant Song

* * *

Rherr sat back and watched as his sister dusted every horizontal surface in the living room, along with a few vertical ones. Pari was stress-cleaning.

Din had left for his own galaxy somewhere around eight hours ago. He said he had hoped to be back within ten. As the minutes to those final few hours counted down, Rherr had watched his sister slowly coil with anxious tension.

Both he and Din had told her there was virtually nothing to worry about. Okay, they might have been only partially right with that claim. When it came to space travel, there was always plenty to worry about. Kick it up a notch by traveling between dimensions, and the amount of nervous energy Pari was putting off seemed about right. 

She’s smart—really smart. She might not know how to pilot a ship through space, but she’s been around long enough and seen enough to know that sometimes, things happen. That knowledge alone was enough to keep her wound tight as a spring until she saw the _Razor Crest_ touch down safely in her lower pasture.

Whatever was going on between Din and Pari, even a blind man could see that it was there. He could only explain it as some kind of intense vibe that passes between them when they’re close, and Rherr knew how hard it had been for her to watch him go.

Rherr was there watching her putter, clean, and bake, making sure she didn’t overdo it. Hell, she’d been in a freaking explosion only last night.

Once Pari had called him at the Base, letting him know Din’s coordinates came in a day early and asking him to get Sash home by early the next morning, Rherr had put in for a weekend pass. It had been surprisingly easy to obtain. All he had to do was tell his commanding officer how his sister had almost been blown away into nothing.

The Tribe had always reinforced the importance of family on its members. So, when he’d explained that she’d be alone and had semi-joked about how he felt he needed to be there to keep her from pushing herself back into her regular routine too quickly, the pass had been his.

Sometime later, somewhere between her vacuuming the tile floor in the refresher and polishing every damn doorknob in the house, the unmistakable noise of an inbound spacecraft had settled over the property.

Running into the living room, can of polish in one hand, dust cloth in the other, Pari looked out the dark windows, and then looked at him.

Smiling, Rherr gave her a nod toward the front door. “Go check it out.”

“What if it’s not him.”

He shrugged, “Then it won’t be him.”

Nibbling on her bottom lip, she stared at him for a moment. Then she was tossing the cleaning supplies on the couch—just about nailing him with the can of polish—as she ran out onto the front porch. 

Rherr, Sash, and Riley followed behind her, but she was already sprinting across the yard. He looked up and grinned at the sight of the _Crest’s_ twin thrusters burning bright in the night sky. Riley shot out the door, chasing after Pari and Rherr laughed. The dog was going to beat her to the ship, and he knew how that would piss her off.

Sash started to follow after Riley and Pari, but Rherr wrangled her against his side.

_“Ba'vodu—!”_

Sash’s muffled complaint had him looking down, “Walk with me.” She gave him a look, and he elaborated, “Let’s give them a minute. Okay?”

Stepping off the porch, Sash looked out to where Din’s ship was hovering over the landing pad. She angled a look back up to him and gave him her thinking face. “Are they boyfriend and girlfriend?”

“Ehrm...” was the best he could come up with on the spot. Walking past the yard, they started down the gentle slope to the lower pasture and Rherr finished with, “You’re... going to have to ask you mom about that.”

Sash rolled her eyes with a sigh. “Okay, fine.”

The ramp on the ship lowered as they stepped through the blades of the tall field grass. Curious, Rherr asked, “If they were, how would you feel about that?”

Sash shrugged. “Okay, I guess.”

Rherr watched her pluck the head off a weed and prodded, “Okay, you guess?”

She shrugged again. “I guess.” She looked up at Rherr, “Mom is happy when he’s around. She smiles a lot more.”

He watched Pari disappear into the ship and nodded, “That’s true.”

“And I like Din. He kinda fits, you know?”

Rherr nodded, “Yeah. I can see what you’re saying.”

They were quiet as they walked, then she asked, “What about you? What would you think?”

“Me?”

Riley started barking from deep within the ship, and Sash replied, “Yeah.”

Rherr blew out a breath, “Um—” whatever was going to come next died on his tongue as Pari’s voice sliced through, ordering the dog out. She was _not_ happy. He barked again, then cut off with a piercing yip as Pari fucking _screamed_ at the dog to get out. Then she screamed for him.

Hearing the panic in her voice, it halted his steps and his hand came down over Sash’s shoulder out of instinct. His niece looked up at him with wide, uncertain eyes as Riley shot down the ramp of the ship.

“Stay here,” he told both Sash and the dog as he bolted for the ramp that led into the belly of the hull. 

“Pari?” Rherr’s voice called out as he ran into the dimly lit space of the cargo hold.

“Rherr! Back here!"

Hurrying toward her, he could hear her talking, telling Din to stop doing something. That was good. Pari didn’t have a habit of arguing with dead men. 

Rounding a stack of crates, he came to a skidding halt as he took in the scene.

A small puddle of blood stained the floor in front of him. Riley’s paw prints blotted through bloody drag marks that led to a crate Din was trying to reach. Pari had a blue bundle in one arm while trying to hold down the injured Mandalorian with the other. Lying on his back, he was fighting against her as she kept him down. The fact that she was overpowering him was not a good sign.

“What happened?” Rherr dropped down on Din’s other side. Grabbing the hand pushing Pari back, he took in the splattered blood down the soldier’s armor and pants. He noticed the bloody paw print on Din’s sleeve. He wasn’t using that arm. “What the hell happened?” 

“I don’t know.” Pari’s voice was tight. She doesn’t scare easily, but the look she shot him weighed heavy with fear. “He’s hurt. Confused. Won’t stay down.”

Din shook his head, “Not—” he was cut off by a wet, choking hack. He worked at it for a second before that choking hack rolled into something much more urgent.

“Help me roll him!” Pari’s free hand grabbed the side of Din’s chest plate, hauling him toward herself. “Don’t touch his right shoulder; collarbone might be broken,” she informed as they eased him onto his left side.

A clipped cry came from behind the helmet, and Rherr grimaced with sympathy. Broken clavicles fucking _sucked_. There was a muffled heave, and then Din moved like he was going to try and prop himself on an elbow. 

“Din, hold on,” Rherr told him, repositioning and then snaked an arm under the soldier’s chest to support him. He flipped Din’s cloak over his head. “Okay, _verd._ Cloak’s concealing you. I got you; shove back the helmet if you need to.”

Din’s supporting arm moved as it stopped bracing himself, and then the full weight of his torso sank into Rherr’s hold. A pressurized hiss came from under the dark grey material.

Din coughed and gasped, and Pari’s free hand came down to settle over his lower back. She rubbed with light strokes as his body curled around a rough heave. The tail end carried with it a breathless gasp of pain. Two more hard retches rolled through him, and then Rherr felt it as his body started trembling.

Scowling, Rherr shook his head. Whatever his injuries were, this was making it worse.

Pari moved in closer. Her arm crossed Rherr’s over Din’s back as she held his side. Rubbing, she leaned in and spoke soft, calm words. He retched a few more times. Then they heard him groan and spat twice against the floor before the seal on his helmet engaged.

“You decent, _vod?”_

_“... yes.”_

Pushing the cloak back revealed another small puddle of bloody vomit. Rherr and Pari exchanged a look as he pinned Din’s right arm to his chest, keeping that side as steady as he could, and eased him down on the deck of the ship.

Din’s breathing passed though the helmet’s vocoder with shallow, uneven bursts. Pari grabbed his hand, and Rherr looked at her. “This is bad. We need to get him out of here now. Get him to the Base.”

“The hospital is only ten minutes by ship—the Base is sixty.”

“He needs the Base, Pari. He needs to get sworn in so they can take off his helmet—” He looked down at Din. Touching his good shoulder, he squeezed, “Din. You with me?”

Din groaned, squirming a little against the floor, “ _yes.”_

“Okay. You’ve got internal damage. No question about that. You’ll need surgery.” Rherr leaned in close to his visor. “We get you to the Base; you take your vows and finalize your induction, you going to let them remove your helmet to treat you?” Din was quiet for a moment, and Rherr, added, “It’s your life, _verd._ But there’s no toughing it out with the helmet like you did a couple weeks ago. Not this time.”

Din paused, and his helm tilted toward Pari and the bundle she was holding. Rolling back, he faced Rherr. “Yes.”

“You’ll let them remove it.”

_“Yes.”_

Rherr nodded. “Good. Tell me what happened; what hurts?” Rherr hated to delay the evac, but he needed to know what they were looking at before he risked moving him again.

Din’s visor met his gaze. Breathing heavily, he forced out, “Inertial... _dampeners.”_

Rherr’s golden eyes fixed on the black glass of his helmet. “Your ship’s inertial dampeners?”

_“Yes.”_

The guy sounded critical. “Okay,” Rherr nodded. “What about them?”

Din sucked in a shallow breath, “Return trip... _hit the wormhole.”_ He breathed rapidly for a second. “Threw a code; only got them back to... _eighty-nine percent.”_

Rherr felt his eyes go wide. “You came out of hyperspace with the dampeners functioning at only eighty-nine?”

 _“Yes,”_ Din groaned, squirming against the floor again.

 _Fuck._ “Okay.” He looked across the downed warrior to Pari and pointed, “His kid okay?”

“She peered down at the bundle in her arm, “From what I can tell. Yes. He’s asleep; nothing appears to be broken, he’s not in distress, his breathing is good. I think he’s just sleeping.

 _Then how the hell is Din so fucked up—?_ He’d think about that later. Right now, Rherr touched Din’s good arm, “Okay, brother. Hang on. You got a stretcher on your ship?”

_“...no.”_

“Okay, I’m going to run next door to mine and grab one. Then Pari and I are going to carry you out of here.” He pointed at Din, “You stay put. No moving. No trying to get up. You stay right here and don’t fight her. _K’suvarir, verd?”_ Rherr delivered the order with authority, and Din’s military-trained mind grabbed onto it, rewarding him with a shaky, “... _’lek.”_

He gave the arm under his hand a gentle pat and pushed to his feet. Hurrying out of the cargo hold, Rherr found his niece leaning against the bulkhead ten feet away from the scene. “Sash, you’re with me.”

She didn’t question him as she fell into step beside him. They ran the short distance to his ship and boarded it. Splitting off toward the small medical alcove, he pointed toward the cockpit. “Startup sequences.” Again, the girl didn’t question the command as she made for the front of the ship. Riley ran with her, and Rherr added, “Close the dog in there with you.”

Rushing to the _Insurgent’s_ modest little medical area, Rherr tore open a cabinet door and yanked out a collapsible stretcher. Possible injuries that came with being exposed to violent deceleration ran through his head. _Puking blood—obvious internal damage; seat’s harness probably snapped the collar bone—_ he grabbed a blanket from a drawer— _whiplash; concussion, possible vertebrae separation—_ and a low-profile cervical collar.

The _Insurgent_ was coming alive as he slammed drawers and cabinet doors. The ship would be ready for takeoff as soon as they got Din on board. Running back down the ramp, he’d never been so glad to have taught Sash how to bring her online. 

~~

Light and sounds swirled through his pounding head, making Din sure the force of decelerating with incomplete dampeners had knocked his brain against his skull. The splitting pain, nausea, and intense sensitivity to light and sound were enough to self-diagnose the concussion.

At least the blood coming from his nose didn’t seem to be related. It burned from the back of his sinuses, meaning he’d puked it up, probably while he was unconscious, strapped in his seat and drifting through space. As unpleasant as all that sounded, he was immensely grateful the blood wasn’t a result of leaking cranial fluids. 

A squeeze on his hand brought him back to his present, and he responded by squeezing back. It was a deal he’d struck up with Pari after Rherr had left. She wouldn’t make him talk as long as when she squeezed his hand, he squeezed back, letting her know he was still with her.

Not being forced to talk, it was a mercy. Pain entombed him; it stole his breath, his words, and any sort of rational thought. From what he noticed, she squeezed about every fifteen seconds. He was pretty sure he had only missed the responding squeeze twice. Then she made him talk by asking him questions. If he answered, she would go back to the squeezing. He wasn’t even sure if he’d responded correctly. It didn’t seem to matter to her right then. She just wanted to keep him from drifting too far away.

Closing his eyes, Din breathed carefully around the pain. Her grip on his hand tightened, and he moved his head just enough to get a view of where Pari was seated beside him. Sitting crossed-legged, his _ad_ was nestled in her lap. Fussing over the blanket, she smoothed her knuckles over his little forehead.

Din knew he’d made the right decision by coming back. Even if it had come at a cost.

Trying not to think about the lance stabbing through his brain, Din found it hard to believe that he’d practically crash-landed here only two weeks ago—

“Din.”

Pari’s tone held a warning telling him he’d missed the mark again. He squeezed her hand, but it was too late. She leaned over him. Looking down, her voice was soft as she spoke, “Hey."

Swallowing down the coppery taste of blood, he tried to focus on her. “Yeah.”

“I was thinking about things, and I’ve come to the conclusion that we’ve really got to stop meeting like this.”

Far from the expected random set of questions, her statement caught him off guard and the corner of his lips quirked into a fractured grin.

He squeezed her hand, and she continued, “I mean, I can appreciate the dramatic entrance and all... but between your first landing on my property and now this one, I think it’s starting to get a little out of hand.”

He brushed the thumb of his gloved hand over hers. “Noted.”

“You said you think your foundling protected himself—from the effects of the faulty dampeners?”

Din needed to take a moment to put the words together. “If... you don’t think he’s hurt… yes. Warned him beforehand... to expect a rough ride—” blood surged up his throat, and Din had to swallow quickly to force it back down. Pari brought his hand to herself, held it in both of hers. The comfort she offered was nice. It helped, giving him something else to focus on aside from the loud roar of pain.

Swallowing a couple of more times, he drew in a careful breath, then another. “If he sensed it... if he shielded himself, it would be why he’s asleep.”

“I’m not familiar with the anatomy of his species. He does seem okay, though. None of his bones appear to be broken; his belly is nice and soft. He’s not bleeding...” Looking from the child to him, she said, “I’ll give you both a scan once we get on the _Insurgent.”_

“Him… _first.”_

She squeezed his hand, “Okay, Din. Him first.”

Her promise eased some of the concern gripping him. He had to admit though, in his gut, he felt it. The kid had protected himself in time. Probably by some sort of knee-jerk, baby instinct reaction. It made him wonder how long his son would sleep this time.

Pari called him again, and he squeezed her hand. He was drifting again. He could feel it. The pain surrounded him, but his mind was getting better at slipping away. That wasn’t good, and he forced himself to open his eyes as he squeezed her hand again.

It must have taken him a lot longer to open his eyes than he realized because then Rherr was beside him. He never heard him come back. On top of that, his hand was squeezing his good shoulder as he gave instructions across where he lay. Rherr was in mid-sentence with Pari. He hadn’t just shown up, and Din realized he must have blacked out.

Shifting, he tried to ease the crushing sensation in his right collarbone. Rherr looked down. “Back with us, _vod?”_

“Yes,” Din replied as the errant thought shorted its way through his groggy mind that his right side had suffered a lot of abuse in getting to this dimension—both times. Then, another thought surfaced. One that seemed a little more off-kilter than the last. Maybe what happened this time was the Way of his Tribe back home catching up to him. Perhaps it found him, knew he was about to set it aside to pick up the Way of Rherr’s Tribe on this green planet of Jakku. Maybe it had kicked his damn ass as a parting gift. 

“Din.”

That time it was Rherr’s voice trying to get him to clue back in. Din pried his eyes back open, didn’t think about when they might have closed, and answered with a gravelly, “Yeah.”

“Think you can hold your foundling while we lift you onto the stretcher?”

The mention of his son chased away a few of the cobwebs weighing down his mind and moved to look at Pari. His head wouldn’t turn. Something was off. He reached up to touch the side of his neck and found the hard, plastic structure of a neck brace.

That was new. He should have remembered someone fitting it to him, and he didn’t.

Rherr moved his hand away from his neck, “The C-collar is just a precaution.” Rherr’s grip squeezed, “Din, your _ad?”_

“I can, yes.”

Pari leaned over him and Din felt her lay the babe on his chest like she already knew it was his favorite place to be. Din settled his hand over the child’s back. 

Rherr’s hand landed over his, “You got him? We could lay him on the floor, I just—”

“It’s okay. I got him.”

“Okay, man _._ We’re going to move you onto the stretcher now. I’ll be as careful as I can, but this is gonna suck for a second. Hang tight, brother.”

Din’s eyes slid shit in anticipation of the pain he knew would hit as soon as Rherr started to lift his shoulders. He felt Pari’s arms hook under his knees, then Rherr gave him a warning before easing him into his hold, and they lifted.

His breath caught, choking off his gasp as lightning sliced through him from his broken collarbone to whatever was damaged on his insides. Holding his son, Din slammed his eyes shut as a gritty shout ripped from his throat.

“Easy, easy...” Rherr’s voice rumbled above him, _“K'atini, vod. K'atini.”_ Din focused on the comfort of the familiar Mando’a saying and what it meant as they laid him flat again.

The same pain surged for a second time. It pulsed and thrummed through his body so loudly he barely noticed them talking to him as he was covered with a blanket and strapped down to the stretcher. One of the straps fixed overtop where he still held his child’s back, cinching down just tight enough that the kid couldn’t roll off him. Then he was getting lifted and carried off his ship.

“Wait-wait. Stop.” Din breathed and felt their movements come to a halt.

Rherr looked down from behind him, “What is it?”

“The hull. Close the hull.” He swallowed, “Control on my vambrace.”

They set him on the ground, and then Rherr was beside him, peeling back the blanket. “Which one?”

“Left... yellow—yellow button beside the blue one.”

“I got it _,”_ Rherr assured him, then Din heard the sound of the ramp closing. Rherr asked, “You need to set ground protocols?”

Din’s eyes slid over to him, and he challenged, “Don’t have... any issues with Jawas around here, do you?”

“Jawas?” Pari’s voice sounded borderline incredulous as it piped up down by his feet. “No. No Jawas have ever been seen on my property.”

“Then, no.”

Rherr moved out of his field of vision, and then he was lifted again. Looking down at him, Rherr grinned, “There’s a story there, I think.”

Din managed a weak smirk. His eyes slid closed without his consent and he mercilessly floated half-conscious through the rest of the transport between his ship and Rherr’s _._

It was the change in the sound of their soft footsteps from the field to the clanking against the steel ramp that had him prying his eyes open again. The lights in the cargo hold were on, but only a few. The lighting was dim—and it was warm. It felt good, considering somewhere during the short trek between his ship and Rherr’s, his body had begun to tremble.

The stretcher was set down on a cot and then strapped down _._ Rherr’s hand came down over his helmet, and then he was gone. Din heard him talking near the cockpit. His eyes closed as he figured Sash must be up there. Either that or Rherr was up there talking to himself.

Pari’s hand slipped beneath the blanket and settled over his thigh. There was a pull of gravity as the ship left the ground, and her fingertips rubbed against his leg with a light touch.

Din blinked and heard Rherr’s voice coming from his side again. Blinking a couple of more times, he frowned, trying to figure out how that was possible. He couldn’t have hit hyperspace yet. It wasn’t possible. Din couldn’t make the pieces fit. It was taking too much effort, and he stopped trying.

A small hand wrapped around his fingers and it took him a moment to realize it was Sash. He tried to close his hand around hers, but there was a block in his mind. His consciousness was floating at best. He didn’t have it in him to do anything else than bob along as it carried him in and out of the fog.

“Has he come back around yet?”

“No, not yet,” Pari answered Rherr.

“Did you do a scan?”

“Yes. His child appears to be fine. Just sleeping, like he assumed.”

Knowing that helped him to relax a little. Relaxing urged him back toward unconsciousness. Holding onto the sound of Pari’s voice, he was able to fight against it.

“Din’s clavicle is fractured; almost a complete brea...–won’t know about his head, about ...–cussion; if he has one or how bad it is, not until...–there and take the helmet off to do a scan.”

“... a damn miracle if...—oesn’t have one. The whiplash... from...—celeration rate alone...–nough to slosh his brain against his skull.”

_“Rherr.”_

A pause. “Sorry, _ad’ika.”_

“It’s okay.” Sash.

“Anyway,” Pari sighed. “Looks...–one of...–ribs he busted...–weeks ago freaking snapped and sliced...—liver, puncturing his lower esophagus. It’s bleedin...—his stomach. That’s what’s causing the...” Pari trailed off, and Rherr said, “Yeah. I got you.”

Sash’s hand squeezed his fingers again.

“... –pinal cord and vertebrae look good, _thank Maker_ , but he’s going to...–whiplash...–damn sore...”

Coming back around again, Din wasn’t sure how long he’d lost consciousness that time, but it had to have long enough for his breathing to take a turn for the worse. He was drawing air in, but it wasn’t enough. The internal bleeding. He wasn’t circulating enough oxygen while his blood leaked into his abdomen. It put pressure on his organs. It was a distressing sensation. Remain calm. It was all he could do until they got to the Base.

“Man, it feels like the damn tropics in here.” Rherr.

Pari’s voice floated in from nearby, “I know, but he needs it.”

She was right. Despite the weight of the blankets someone had piled on, he remained chilled. There was a coolness running through the veins of his left arm. He didn’t remember the blankets...Too much was spiraling out of control around him, and he finally forced his eyes open. 

Din found himself looking at the bottom of a set of cabinets over the cot. Glancing down, he couldn’t move his head, but he could see just enough to know Pari was down by his feet. Blinking, his brow pinched in confusion. She now had him by the ankles, holding them up as she talked Sash through shoving a rolled-up tarp under his calves. He never felt Pari moving him. He was losing time faster than before. _That’s not good._ The position she manipulated him into told him she was trying to keep him from going into shock. _Also,_ _not good._

Movement by his shoulder had Din dragging his eyes up and he found Rherr standing beside his head. He had his _ad_ in one arm as his gloved hand squeezed an IV bag. He was overriding the drip, forcing the fluids into his body. _That’s not good._

Rherr’s gaze skipped down to his visor. Did he say that out loud?

Pari darted up and found his hand under the blankets, “Hey.” Leaning into his field of vision, she asked, “What’s not good?”

Arching back a little, he squeezed her hand, “Overriding the... drip like that. Not a good sign.”

“Hey. No, it’s okay,” she smiled. “I just wanted to push some fluids. You were getting shocky on us.”

“How’s… the baby?”

Pari reached up toward Rherr and then she was holding the child _._ Tilting him in her arms, she showed him. “He’s okay. Sleeping still.” Din let go of her hand. Working it out from under the blanket, he touched the child’s arm. 

Pari laid the sleeping bundle along his good side. Taking his hand, she gave it a squeeze and placed it over the swaddled bundle. Her hand settled overtop his, and Din closed his eyes for a second. When he opened them, Sash and Rherr had vanished. He had blacked out again. _Damn it._

Moving his fingers, he could feel the softness of the blanket covering the child and the warmth of Pari’s skin. Gripping her hand made her smile down at him, saying, “Hey.”

It was a greeting, confirming that he’d lost time again.

Pari rubbed her hand over his, the heat of it thawing a bit of the ice on his fingers. Blinking, he looked through his visor at her. She was leaning closer and he could feel the touch of her elbow against the side of his bicep—felt it with his skin. Paying closer attention, he noted the soft brush of the blankets against his side as he took a breath. He’d been disrobed down to his waist.

Swallowing down something that shouldn’t be coming up, Din asked, “Where’s my armor?”

“Rherr’s got it locked up. I needed to take it off so I could look you over and do a scan.”

That’s right, thought Din as bits and pieces of that conversation bounced around his mind. She wouldn’t have been able to use a scanner with the armor in place.

“Din?”

His eyes were closed again. They kept doing that. Pari’s fingertips stroked the hollow of his throat through the opening in the cervical collar. The look she was giving him made him think she’d asked a question. The fact that he kept drifting off without recognizing the pull before it took him away was concerning. 

Clearing his throat, he gripped her hand again. “Yeah.”

She touched his other hand, the one on the side of his messed-up collarbone, and gave his fingers a squeeze. “I asked if this was okay. No tingling? Binding’s not too tight?”

_Binding..._

Din couldn’t look down to see what she was talking about but, flexing his hand back, he felt the restriction. His arm was bound to his chest. It was a standard stabilization tactic for a broken clavicle. It worked to keep the bone from shifting and gave a bit of relief from the pain. The problem was, they would have had to sit him up to wind the bandage around his torso. The position would have hurt. A lot. He didn’t remember any of it. That was bad. It was something she needed to be aware of. 

Pulling in a breath, he asked, “How much further?”

The concern Pari had been masking overtook her features as she looked down at him. “Just under fifteen minutes, I think.”

“Where’s Sash?” He hadn’t noticed her or Rherr nearby, but he wanted to make sure the girl was out of earshot for what he was going to say next.

Pari tilted her head at the question, “In the cockpit with Rherr. Why?”

The hand he held over the child shifted and found her thigh. He squeezed. “Pari,” he hesitated, swallowing.

Her fingers started stroking along his throat again. It felt good, comforting him, and reminded him of their quiet times together. His eyelids fluttered, and he had to wrestle against being sucked back into oblivion.

Releasing her thigh, Din reached up and captured her hand in his. He blinked, trying to get his eyes to focus on her as he got the words straightened out in his head. Inhaling as much as he could, he began, “Listen,” his hand curled around hers, squeezing a couple of times. “If I don’t... if things turn out... bad—”

“Don’t.” Tears were gathering in her eyes, and his heart twisted.

“Pari—”

“Please, don’t.”

He stopped to breathe a couple of times. Pulling in more air, he urged, “Let me get this out. Please.” She closed her eyes, and he squeezed her hand. “Look at me?”

Her gaze landed on him, watery and afraid.

Din tried for a strong voice, but his words were flimsy and tight as he spoke the truth to her. “I’m slipping, Pari. I can feel it.” Her eyes fell closed again, “I don’t remember you and Rherr removing my armor, or my vest and shirt. I don’t remember you binding my arm. With the break, the internal damage, it should have been excruciating. It should have forced me to wake, and I don’t remember _any of it.”_

Pari looked down at their joined hands, and he watched her blink the moisture away from her eyes. Her forehead pulled together as her nostrils flared, and she shook her head. Her pain was pulling on his soul. Part of him wished he’d never found her lands the night that kicked off this whole thing. If he hadn’t, she would never have met him, and she wouldn’t be sitting with him now, trying to hold back her sadness through what might turn out to be a last request.

Din didn’t want to think about leaving. The child reminded him what love felt like, but being with Pari, he still wasn’t sure if he could call it love, but he was certain he would call it contentment—happiness. Happy. It was a new experience for him. It made him want to hold onto her and never let go.

Being faced with the possibility of getting ripped apart so soon after finding each other, it felt like some sort of tasteless cosmic joke. It made him mad, and a rush of emotion pulsed through him, choking him and trapping the shallow breaths in his lungs.

Din tried swallowing a couple of times. It didn’t matter. His voice still came out strained and rough as he continued. “Pari. The _ad_...” he moved her hand and settled it on the sleeping child. Din laid his hand over the top of hers. The back of her other hand pressed against her trembling lips, and he forced out the rest, “He needs to stay within the tribe. I know they would take him regardless, but you’re a member of Rherr’s clan, and I—” he had to stop and take a couple of breaths “—would... you be willing to take care of him? If... if I—”

“Don’t make me answer that.” Her gaze swung back at him. The look in her eyes, fierce as they managed to latch onto his with a direct hit. “Please, Din. Don’t ask this.”

“Pari—”

“No. We're not at that point. We’re not there yet, Din. Okay?” Sounding frightened, she pleaded, “So, you’re just going to have to hold on for a little bit longer before you start with the last requests.”

Seeing her struggling with her emotions did nothing toward easing the battle he was having with his own. Swallowing didn’t do much to alleviate the choking tightness in his throat. “Pari, answering me, it won’t affect how hard I fight to stay.” She didn’t respond, and he squeezed her hand as he breathed a few times. “Securing the welfare of my founding… it’s not the only important thing… I’ve got to live for over here.”

“I know.”

“Do you?”

“Yes.”

He gave her hand a tug. “Then, look at me… when you say that.”

Her gaze turned mournfully soft as it landed on the black of his visor. “I know, Din.”

“Good.” Closing his eyes, he breathed for a moment. Looking at her, he tried again, “So, would you—"

“Yes,” Pari cut in. “Of course, yes.” She tried to smile, but it wobbled and failed.

His heart sank a little more. “Don’t cry.”

She scoffed at him. “I’m not crying.”

Lifting his arm took more energy than he had, but he forced it to move. Hand trembling, he reached out and brushed away the tear rolling down her cheek. “My mistake.”

Pari captured his hand and pressed his palm against the side of her face. Closing her eyes, she drew in a shaky breath, but her exhale came out steady. Staring hard into his visor, she turned her face into his hand and kissed the palm.

Inhalations coming in short, shallow bursts, he smiled, wishing she could see it. Instead, he sucked in a breath and asked, “You want to know something?”

“What.”

“You make me smile.”

Trapping his hand in both of hers, she intertwined their fingers, “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Is this a new thing for you, Djarin?”

The question was meant to be an invitation to banter and lighten the mood, but he had to be honest with her. Right then, he didn’t dare to gamble with having another chance to tell her later. So, rubbing his thumb over hers, he said, “Little bit, yeah.”

The smile she’d managed to drudge up faltered, but then became strong again. “And how’s that been going for you?”

Drawing in a slow breath, he said, “It’s nice. But...”

Pari gave him a challenging look. “But...”

“Uncomfortable.”

Her sassy demeanor vaporized as her brows drew together over a frown. “Uncomfortable?”

“Yes. I’m not used to it.” He grinned, “My cheeks hurt all... the time now.”

Looking into his visor, Pari laughed. It was wet and her eyes were too bright, but the sound of it eased a portion of the heaviness in his heart. He squeezed her hand. She seemed to be looking right at him and he found kindness and acceptance, along with a promise in her eyes. 

She scooted up a little higher from where she was leaning over him. Closing her eyes, her forehead came down and rested against the crown of his helm. It was the closest to a kiss they could get right then. Din’s eyes slipped shut and he let himself still within her presence. It was the only place he wanted to be. Again, the thought surfaced that he didn’t want to leave. He felt it so strongly, he didn’t care when a drop of moisture escaped his eye and trailed down the side of his face.

Pari’s touch was delicate as it feathered across the left side of his exposed chest. Pushing back his eyelids, he blinked, trying to bring her into focus. His vision didn’t sharpen. Reaching out, he tangled his fingers in the soft strands of her hair.

Voice soft, she drew him back to their conversation by saying, “You just need more practice. You know, build up those facial muscles.”

His eyes drooped again. He wouldn’t be able to stop it for much longer. Still, his lips curved at her comeback. “You’ll have to come up... with a training regimen.”

“I can do that.”

His chest rose and fell quickly a few times. His eyes became too heavy, and he murmured, “...organize some drills.”

“Anything you want. Anything. Just stay with me, Din.”

“...trying.”

“I’d take it for you if I could.”

Knowing he wouldn’t be able to bring her face into focus, he still worked his eyes open enough to see her. “I wouldn’t let you.”

“Yeah? Maybe you wouldn’t get a say in it. What do you think about that?”

Din breathed out a fractured breath of amusement. His eyes slid shut and he whispered, _“Warrior-dove.”_

Another sloppy laugh pushed from her lungs, “It figures you’d remember that.”

Bone weary and lightheaded from struggling to breathe, he stopped trying to open his eyes but still fought to stay conscious. He worried about being able to find his way back if he got carried away again. Talking was his best chance at staying, so he didn’t think about how hard it was to push out the words and just forced it. “...kind of hard to forget—” a few quick breaths “—when she keeps... showing up.”

“She’s a handful. I’m warning you; run while you can.”

His small laugh came out on a wheezing exhale. “Seems wrong to... go through all this—” pain shot through his middle, stealing his breath. Din’s eyes clenched, and he gripped her hand. Pari brought his hand to her mouth as her soft lips pressed against his knuckles. Taking quick, sharp breaths, he couldn’t help groaning as he squirmed against the stretcher.

Pressing his hand to her cheek, Pari cradled his arm against her chest and held him. He focused on her soft words as she talked him through it, focused on the pulse in her neck thrumming against the back of his hand and the way she smelled when her head landed on his shoulder. Surrounded by her, he rode out the pain until it receded back down to the same stabbing fire it had been.

Sweat trickled down the sides of his head as his body trembled. He was shaking from head to toe and he couldn’t stop it. It _hurt,_ and he gave into the breathless moan.

Pari held him as much as she could as he worked to get his breathing into some sort of a useful pattern. Her voice came from his shoulder. “Almost there, Din.” Her lips pressed two kisses to his chest. “I promise you; we’re so close.”

Nausea surfaced and he tried to ignore it. It wasn’t like before. It was annoying, but not violent, and swallowing a couple of times took away the fear that he would throw up. He held onto Pari’s hand, stroked his thumb over hers and breathed through it. It settled more and he finished his earlier thought. It didn’t even sound like his voice anymore, _“Handful... or not... Seems wrong to... go through all this... and then just walk away.”_

Pari kissed his hand twice and then he felt her move as she pushed herself up and reached for something behind him. There was a low tone and then he could hear Sash talking in the cockpit.

Rherr’s voice cut into her sentence, “Hold on, _cyar'ika—_ Pari?”

“How much longer, Rherr?”

“Just over six minutes if I fly nice, but I can cut it down to four if I have to.”

“Go for four.” There was no hesitation, and Din picked up the plea in her voice.

“Copy that; going for four.”

The engines whined upward in pitch and the craft shuttered for a few seconds as it was tipped into a sudden descent. From the sound of the thrusters, Din could tell Rherr was pushing their limits on his final approach. He’d be lucky if he didn’t blow a turbine maxing them out like that.

Rherr’s voice came over the intercom again. “Give me an update.”

Holding his hand, Pari rubbed up and down his arm. "Hanging on."

It was a vaguely cryptic response, but the nervousness in her tone came through clear enough.

Rherr didn’t miss a beat. “Yeah, well, you tell that flyboy I said if he tries checking out early, I _will_ come back there and revive him just so I can kick his ass for trying to pull the stunt to begin with."

Din pulled in a breath, _“Rog—”_ blood surged up his throat. Filling his mouth, it shot into his sinuses and oozed from his nose. He hacked once. Half pushing it out and half choking it back down, he coughed and gasped.

Pari’s hands grabbed him, pulling him like she was going to try and roll him again. _“No,”_ he coughed again, sucking in a wheezing breath, he touched her arm. _“...no.”_ She stopped. Palming the side of his helmet, her face pressed against the other side, and she held him. Clearing his throat, he coughed again as he touched the back of her head, rubbing as he dragged in a couple of shallow breaths and finished his reply to Rherr. “ _...roger—that.”_

“You’re gotdamn right, ‘Roger that,” Rherr affirmed, and then, “Medical’s brought up to date. They’re assembled and waiting for us in the hanger. Soon as we land, they’re going to swarm you, so be prepared for that. Just three more minutes. You _have_ three more minutes in you.” Rherr wasn’t asking, and he took it a step further by finishing with an order. _“K'oyacyi, vod. Suvarir?”_

_“Elek.”_

“Good— Pari?”

“Yeah,” her voice answered from directly over him. It was too dark. He couldn’t see her anymore.

“Make sure those two are strapped in good, and then you get yourself into a jump seat. Thirty seconds and then we’re coming in hot.”

~~

Running beside the gurney as the medical team double-timed it down the access tunnel to the medical facility, Pari watched Din. He hadn’t moved at all since they’d offloaded him from Rherr’s ship.

After landing, the medical team had boarded quickly. Not waiting for the cargo ramp to fully lower, they had jumped up and rushed inside. All three of them wore their helmets, and Pari knew Rherr had asked for that consideration for Din’s sake.

The lead medic’s pewter helmet scored with electric blue claw marks turned to face Pari. Introducing herself as Miva, she asked for a sitrep. Pari gave her an efficient rundown of Din’s injuries and how he acquired them, the unit of plasma they had given him, the coagulant that was added to his IV fluids, how it seemed to have slowed down the internal bleeding, but not stopped it entirely.

It had bought them time. Perhaps had saved Din’s life, but as Miva had run her scanner over his prone body, her helmet shook at the urgency of his condition. She started barking out orders left and right as Pari stood behind Din’s head, rubbing his shoulder as the team buzzed around him just like Rherr had said they would.

Within a minute of boarding, Miva had Din hooked up to a unit of whole blood, along with another unit of plasma. Removing the neck brace, she had declared his spine stable and inquired about any pain medication he’d been given.

Rherr had answered, “I gave him one syringe from the med-pack.”

Her visor had whipped around to face his. _“One?”_ She balked. “With these injuries, he could have been given at least two—maybe even three, and you gave him _one, vod?”_

“No choice, Miva,” Rherr had laid out. “He needs to remain aware. The _alor_ is waiting for him so he can say his vows.” Miva threw out her hand like she was going to interrupt, and Rherr asserted, “He follows the _old_ way, Miva. There’s no working around it.”

She had huffed out a breath, “All right. Okay, that’s okay.” She rubbed Din’s good arm. “That unit of blood is going to buy us time. His belly shows signs of rigidity, though...” she spoke as she started hauling out supplies. “I’m taking the thirty seconds it’ll cost us to insert a drain, and then we’re booking it to the trauma room—slight pinch, _verd,”_ Miva warned Din as she injected a local into his side.

Pari had looked over at Rherr. He was holding Sash. The girl had her arms wrapped around his neck as she held on.

“Pari...the child?” Din breathed.

She leaned over him, “Right here. I’ve got him right here with me.”

Din had sighed.

Listening to him as he continued struggling to breathe, she had promised him. “Don’t worry about your son. I have him. He’s safe here. Try to relax, Din.”

Then Miva had announced, “Okay, I’m in, drain’s secured and working. Let’s move!”

Pari had taken a step back as a medic in red armor and another in all black took an end of the stretcher. They managed to blend urgency with care as they had lifted it and walked it a few steps over to the hover gurney waiting for them in the _Insurgent’s_ cargo area. Din had been set down with more of that careful watchfulness, and then that’s when all the running had begun.

Now, holding Din’s child close against herself, Pari looked across the wounded soldier to where Rherr jogged with Sash in his arms. It looked effortless for him. Sash was tall for her age. Slim, she still weighed a ton. Watching her brother carrying her as he jogged the hundred or so yards to the medical facility gave her a little closer insight into how physical life is for these guys.

Entering the busy trauma department, the medic in red armor leading the gurney shouted out, “Make a hole!”

His words, commanding and deep, sliced through the busy murmurs of the quiet unit and then Mandalorians of every shape, color, and size moved to create a clear path for them. The medic in red armor pointed at a tech behind the desk wearing a mismatched patchwork of faded grey and battle-worn blue armor. “Room, Arirer?”

“Got you, Hath; Room 32B. Alor is already there along with two damn generals.”

Hath didn’t bother with a reply as he took off down the hallway, shouting, “Coming through—move!” 

The Mandos in the hallway picked a wall and pressed back against it. Pari counted past five trauma rooms before they slowed, and the gurney was steered into one on the right. Din and the medics entered first, with Pari and Rherr pulling up the rear. She had never seen the _alor_ to Rherr’s Tribe, but she’d lay money that it was the hunched Mandalorian in the chair wearing black armor edged in green and holding a wicked-looking cane.

The trauma room was large, easily able to accommodate upwards of twenty people along with the gurney, and the equipment and supplies it housed. However, the _alor_ and the two generals standing beside him managed to make the walls close in. Standing tall in their armor, wearing their helms, it was an intimidating and awesome sight.

The _alor’s_ chair was conveniently aligned with the head of the gurney. He seemed to do an assessing look over Din, and then his visor raised to address Miva. “What is the condition of _ner verd_?”

Miva looked up from where she was inspecting the drain in Din’s side. “Internal bleeding, low blood gasses, broken ribs and clavicle, concussion unconfirmed, but a fair certainty. Semi-conscious—he’s been in and out.”

“Do we have time for a short talk?”

“Yes, _Alor._ They won’t take him back into surgery until he finishes the unit of blood and his system stabilizes more. But, if I may...” 

“Speak, child.”

 _“Gar verd,_ he is in pain. He won’t accept proper medication or the removal of his helmet until after he takes his vows. I respectfully recommend his vows be spoken shortly so that we may address these issues and help him.”

Humming to himself, the leader of Rherr’s tribe nodded. Scooting forward in his seat, his visor fell upon the helm before him as Din squirmed against the gurney. Fractured, sharp breaths passed through the helmet and settling a hand over Din’s leg, the oldest man in the room gave it a pat. “Then we’ll just have to make it short and to the point. Isn’t that right, _verd?”_

Breathing much too ragged to be considered anything other than distressed, Din’s helmet rolled against the gurney to face the Tribe patriarch. The movement was stiff and calculated. He only got so far before abruptly stopping, and Pari thought of the whiplash he’d suffered.

It sounded like Din had to swallow a couple of times before his voice came out hoarse and weak, “Yes— _Alor.”_

“Good, good.” The man patted his leg again. “Normally, we would have ourselves a talk before going through the ritual of speaking the Tribe vows and inducting one into our fold. Life, however, is seldom a linear journey. It bends and winds, shaped by the events of time. We ourselves must learn to bend along with it, or risk becoming stiff and brittle. So, circumstances as they are, I propose postponing our talk and accepting this _verd_ based upon the word of Lieutenant Strart so that we may proceed with the speaking of the vows.”

One of the generals turned to Rherr, “Lieutenant. You know this man?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Do you confirm that he has spoken the _Resol'nare?_ That he follows it daily and that he holds a strict devotion to the creed?”

"I swear on my commission and my honor, Sir. All are true. He is more than deserving of joining our Tribe."

“This is acceptable.” The patriarch spoke. Nodding, he looked back to Din, “Let us begin.”

“Wait— _please,”_ Din asked, sounding slightly strangled as his good arm eased across his middle.

Leaning in, the _alor_ asked, “What is it, _verd?”_

“You...you have to know... about the child; _my foundling—"_ Din cut off, broadsided by a jolt of pain bad enough to have him breathing hard as he writhed on the gurney. Stifling a groan, his arm tightened around his stomach, and Pari watched him hold his breath as he fought against it.

The medic laid a hand on his good shoulder. “ _Verd._ Let me give you something for the pain.”

 _“No,”_ Din growled through the hurt.

“ _Verd_ —”

“No.” His voice was stronger, but he had to stop and pant a few times before he could continue, straining through his next few words, _“...barely with... it now. Meds...”_

“The meds will probably knock him out.” About five helmets turned their way as Rherr spoke up, and he explained, “He needs to get through this first.”

The _Alor’s_ helm bowed slightly toward Miva and she dropped the issue. Looking at Din, he offered, “This conversation can wait, _verd._ I have already gathered the information I need from Lieutenant Strart and his Commander. There is no need for you to continue to suffer.”

 _“N-no. Have to… you need to know—”_ an audible grimace sliced through his words. “the details... my tribe...” Din cut off to take a quick breath. “...nearly decimated because we didn’t... know. Won’t risk the same for yours.” Din rushed through that last bit. Breathing through it still, he forced out an apology, sounding frustrated that he couldn’t get a grip over the pain.

Leaning forward, the old Mandalorian administered another dose of gentle pats to his leg, “Okay, _verd._ You can finish explaining. Though, take your time. Your body will let you know when it is able, and not before. Forcing it will only prolong the wait.”

Din seemed to measure his breathing for a minute. His voice had grown weary as he continued. “In my galaxy, the Empire... it is defeated, but not dead. It is... still operational—underground.”

The generals exchanged a subtle look. Faces hidden, Pari still picked up an air of astonishment. “The foundling...” Din stopped to breathe as he arched back slightly against the pain. _“My child..._ he has powers—telekinesis and the power to heal...The Empire... _hunts_ him for this reason. To... take his powers... use them for their gain. My Tribe... already struggling in its numbers, protected the child… helped us escape... _Empire retaliated; lost almost everyone.”_

“May I see this child?”

Pari looked down at Din. He nodded, “Certainly.”

The patriarch reached out his hands, and Pari passed the child over where Din lay, placing him into the arms of the old Mandalorian.

Cradling the swaddled one like he was one of his own grandkids, the Mandalorian in black and green armor smoothed a gloved hand over the small green head. “Yes. Such power in someone so small.” His hand landed over the child’s head, “We shall talk more of this later, _verd._ But know now that you both will find safety and rest within our numbers.” The leader’s visor turned to Din, “The Empire is no more in our galaxy, yet we remain diligent as if it were.”

Passing the child back to Pari, the _alor_ said, “Now, _verd._ What do you say? We will speak the Tribe vows together and make your induction official.”

 _“Vor entye, Alor._ That would be… an honor.”

“Yes, and then you will allow _baar'ur,_ Miva to relieve you of the pain you suffer through.”

_“Elek.”_

“And allow them to remove your helm in order to repair your body.” There was a slight hesitation on Din’s part, and the Alor adjusted in his seat. “By swearing yourself to the Way of our Tribe, _verd,_ your soul will follow with. You will remain whole, as one, even without your helm. The fear of being _dar'manda_ under our Way will not find you by showing your face. That Way was only a temporary means of survival, long ago removed from our culture. Now, as you join our Tribe, you are blanketed by the Way of our creed; protected and preserved.”

Leaning heavily on his cane, Pari could practically hear the old man’s stiff joints creak as his gloved palm rested over the top of Din’s helmet. “So, I ask you again, _vod._ After you swear yourself to our Way, will you allow the removal of your helm in order to repair your body?”

Din’s breathing had gradually kicked up throughout the length of the patriarch’s short speech. By the end, he was taking shallow, controlled breaths. Still, he didn’t hesitate again after the _Alor_ asked the question for a second time, answering with a rough, _“...elek, Alor.”_

“Very good. Let us begin.”

~~

The vows Din spoke with the Alor were blessedly simple and to the point. Only about six or seven lines long. Turns out, Din was right on the money by telling them he was struggling to stay with it, and somewhere around the fifth line, he stopped repeating after the Alor.

The room went silent. Aside from Din’s labored breaths, no one made a sound. Pari had looked from Din to the Alor, to Rherr, just in time to see her brother reach down and give the toe of Din’s boot a slight jostle. Din came back around with a sharp inhale. Head turning slightly toward the _alor,_ he apologized and repeated the last line he remembered.

He was two lines back. Pari tried not to smile as the old Mandalorian just rolled with it and resumed from that point.

After Din spoke the final word of his vows the patriarch leaned in and patted Din’s good shoulder. “Welcome into the Tribe, Din Djarin.” His thumb swiped along the crown of Din’s helmet and then over the bandage binding his arm over his heart. “Your family has just expanded to more than two thousand _vods_ , and I am pleased to say that tonight, ours has expanded by two.”

Leaning on his cane, he started moving along the side of the gurney. Everyone moved a step back, giving him room as he abled around the end and then shuffled up to Pari. Standing close, he swiped his thumb over the child's forehead and heart. Then, turning back to Din, his palm settled over his helm and he spoke the same words Pari remembered Rherr telling Din the first time they met: “Rest, _gar vod_. Heal and Recover.”

Din took a couple of quick breaths. _“Gar serim,_ _Alor_.”

The leader of their Tribe gave a nod of approval and then turned and made for the door. Pari watched as each general stopped by Din on their way to follow beside their leader. One touched his shoulder, the other the top of his helmet as they spoke to him a few words in Mando’a that she didn’t understand.

The room cleared out, and Rherr tapped the top of Din’s boot a couple of times. His visor turned to bring him into view, and Rherr told him, “I’m going to go and get this kiddo something to eat; get her settled for the night. You hang tight, Din _._ Let them do what they need to help you, and I’ll catch up with you later.”

Din gave him a stiff nod, and Rherr’s hand tapped his foot one more time in affirmation. Giving Pari a nod, Rherr turned and walked out of the room.

After housing so many people, the sudden clear-out left Pari with only Din and Miva in the room, making it seem open and oddly empty as it amplified the harsh breaths he continued to take. Even with the blood transfusion halfway complete, Din was still working too hard to breathe.

Miva walked over with an oxygen mask and a couple of syringes, saying, “Okay, _verd._ I’m going to give you something for the pain. Then, if you will remove your helmet, we’ll get you more comfortable, okay?” Her words were soft and compassionate.

She uncapped one of the syringes, and Din stopped her, “Not—yet.”

Pari shook her head, “Hey, you’re good now, Din. Vows are made. Take the damn pain medication.”

“In a minute. Taking off my helmet... I don’t want to be out of it.”

Frowning a little, Pari thought about how hard this might be for Din. He was about to do something he’d spent decades avoiding at all costs—showing his face to another being. She couldn’t begin to imagine what might be running through his mind or the level of apprehension he might be experiencing. The fact that he didn’t want it to happen while he was drugged, it made sense. Still...

“Hey.” Pari leaned in, “I get what you’re saying. How about you let Miva give you just a little bit.” Din started to decline, and she spoke over him. “Just a partial dose. Just enough to take the edge off. You’ll still be in control, but you need some relief, Din.”

Looking between her and Miva, his shallow breaths came and went in an almost desperate rhythm for a few seconds before he relented. “Jus—just a little bit; a _quarter dose._ ” He bargained. “...can you—”

“I can, _vod.”_ Miva looked at the measurement on the syringe and then injected a quarter of its contents into the clear tubing of his IV.

Taking the edge off was a bit of a stretch. Pari wasn’t sure if that small dose had even accomplished that much, but it did enough for him to settle back against the gurney. Looking at him, and wanting to make it as easy on him as possible, she stroked her thumb over his hand, offering, “Do you want me to leave before you remove it? I’ll leave. It’s okay, just let me know.”

“No.” His answer came out steady and sure. “But I'm not sure that I can right now... everything is too heavy. I... would you mind?”

“Only if you are absolutely sure.”

“I am.”

Handing her the oxygen mask, Miva touched Din’s shoulder, “I’ll give you a minute.”

Pari watched her leave the room. The door closed, and she looked at Din. Speaking softly, she asked, “Are you ready?”

Breathing faster than just a minute ago, he said, “Yes.”

Setting the baby on the gurney beside Din, Pari reached for the lip of steel at his chin. His hand settled over the child as she felt for the catch.

“Do you know how to...”

“Yes.” Finding it, she looked into his visor for a beat, and then flicked it to the side. A soft hiss of decompressed air sliced through the quiet in the room as slick wetness dripped onto her hand. Looking, she saw blood and reached for the sides of his helmet.

Placing her hands on either side, Din’s breathing picked up more. With the seal disengaged, the tech powered down, and a shaky sound of humor got muffled as he spoke from behind the steel, “N-Not ...the way I had planned for... this part to go.”

Pari paused, smiling at him. “We can have a do-over when you’re better.”

His soft laugh wheezed, and Pari pulled up the slightest. “Wait.” Din breathed as his hand fumbled to grab her arm. Grip slipping, he tried again. Pari waited as his hand settled around her wrist. Squeezing, Din told her, “Fair warning: It’s... kind of gross under here.”

Leaning in, she assured him, “I’m a mom. I work with animals. By this point, I’ve been completely desensitized to gross.”

Looking at her, Din rubbed his thumb along her wrist. Squeezing, his chest rose and fell around nervous breaths for a few seconds before his hand fell away, and she removed his helmet.

The first thing she noticed was all the blood. The poor guy was covered in it. The next thing was his eyes. One eye completely bloodshot, the other, blood surrounded the deep brown of his iris, staining the white a rich red. Looking past the trauma, she saw in them pain, fatigue, and uncertainty. 

A wide smile overtook her as tears filled her eyes, and she choked out a tight, “Hey, you.”

Leaning in close, she pushed back his sweaty hair, landing a tender kiss to his brow. His hand found her thigh and squeezed. Leaning back just enough to look at him, her heart melted when his lips curved upward into a weak smile.

“Hey.” The word sounded croaked and difficult. Picking up the mask, she settled it over his face.

Pressing her forehead to his, Pari watched his eyes close in relief as he breathed the oxygen. After taking about a half dozen pulls from the mask, Din forced his eyes open, and she pulled back a little as his gaze roamed lazily over her face.

Drawing in a slow breath, his voice came out weak and muffled, “Not looking m’best right now.”

Gazing hard into his eyes, Pari smoothed her hand down the side of his head. “You look wonderful to me.” Tipping back the mask, she was leaning in to kiss him when his hand gripped her thigh.

“Wait.”

Pausing Inches apart, she placed it back over his face. “What is it?”

Eyes closing over a long blink, Din smiled. It was gorgeous. Another grin broke out on her face, and his hand moved over her thigh as he looked at her again. “You don’t want to kiss me right not—not when I’m a mess like this.”

She gave him a look. “I don’t care about that, Din. At all.”

“You’ll get all bloody.”

“What did I tell you about being desensitized to all that?” His eyes fell closed, and she brushed his hair off his brow, “Besides. I about lost you today. All right?” He looked up at her again, and she said, “All I care about right now is you’re here and you’re going to be okay.”

Dragging in a breath, he brought his hand up and touched her arm. Pari told him, “A little blood isn’t going to stop me from wanting to kiss you.” Looking at her, his thumb stroked over her arm. “Let me kiss you, Din.”

He gave her another one of those quick fractured smiles and pulled in a breath of oxygen. “Okay.”

Tipping the mask out of her way again, Pari smiled at him as she leaned in. His eyes fell shut as they kissed.

Looking at him, seeing his face, the way his expression became soft and open as his lips pressed against hers, she felt choked with emotion all over again. A few more tears rolled down her cheeks as she held his face in her hands. He gripped her arm. It was like they were both holding tight to what they’d found in each other, yet came so close to losing.

Din pulled away and drew in a shaky breath, “Sorry.” He was already out of air.

Moving the mask back over his face, she told him, “Never apologize for needing to breathe.”

“...’s good advice.” Reaching for her, his thumb brushed along her mouth, wiping at the traces of his blood.

His hand dropped back down to her leg, and she asked, “You get it?”

“Think I just made it worse.”

Pari laughed and wiped her hand across her mouth. A soft smile formed as he struggled to look at her. Wincing, Din closed his eyes.

“Room too bright?” He managed a weak nod, and Pari offered, “Most of the lights are off... I could kill ones above the sink. I’m sure Miva can see in the dark perfectly with her helmet.”

“No.” Din forced his eyes back open, “...want to see you. First person besides the kid that I’ve looked at without the visor in… so long.”

“Yeah?” Pari stroked her thumb along his temple, “And what do you think?”

His eyes slid closed again, “...still beautiful, m’afraid.”

A small laugh pulled from her, “Look at you, being all charming. Must be influenced from that staggering quarter-dose of pain medication you got.”

“Doubt it.” Din winced, and she took his hand in her. His grip tightened, and Pari moved forward to press her lips to his brow. They stayed like that for another few seconds before latch on the door gave a click. Pari straightened back, watching Din as he forced his eyes open and checked the doorway.

Miva walked into the room. Helm tucked under her arm, a floating pram followed her into the room. She closed the door and approached the bed. Her ebony skin seemed to glisten as she gave Din an easygoing grin. “Sorry it took me a bit, but I went up to the Maternity department. They had a spare pram laying around.” She looked at Pari, “I have an infant at home; I know how tired your arms can get.”

Pari shot Din a grin, then looked up at Miva, “Thank you. That’s very kind.”

Nodding, she said, “Hold out your arm, hon.”

Pari complied, and Miva slipped a thin silver bracelet over her wrist. “This is the tether.” Turning her wrist, she explained, “When you want to take it off, just slide this over to open the catch.”

“Again, thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” Miva smiled warmly at the child sleeping by his father’s side. Setting her helmet off to the side, she walked back over, and Din’s eyes dragged toward her as she started to inject something into his IV. “What...” His eyes slid shut as he swallowed. “What exactly is that?”

“The remaining dose of pain medicine along with a little something to help you relax.” She told him as she pushed the contents through the syringe into the clear tubing.

“Relax?”

“Your surgeon ordered it. It’s pretty standard before surgery.”

Pari watched as Din slowly began to settle from the relief the medicine gave him. Sliding her hand through his hair, she asked, “Better?”

His eyes landed on her, and he spoke through a long blink, “It’s pretty good stuff.”

“Did it take away all of the pain?”

His head shook the slightest bit, “No. Everything’s dulled nicely, though.”

“It hasn’t even peaked yet. Give it about ten minutes and you’ll be feeling even better.”

Miva walked over holding a wet cloth and a small basin filled with warm water. Handing Pari the cloth, “Here, _vod._ You got a little something… “ gesturing to her face, Miva gave her a wink.

Accepting the cloth, Pari wiped the cloth over her face, “When will they take him back for surgery?”

“Not until he finishes that unit of blood.” Scanning Din’s head, Miva paused and eyed the amount that remained in the clear bag, “Probably another fifteen minutes or so.”

Pari turned back to Din. “Anything hurt before I start scrubbing off layers?” He smirked, and she grinned. She’ll never get tired of seeing him smile.

He could barely open his eyes. “Don’t think so.”

“Nose okay?” she asked, looking at the amount of dried blood she found there.

“Yes.”

“Okay,” Pari pulled the mask away briefly as she wiped the cloth around his mouth and nose with careful, light strokes. She went to clean the edges of the mask, but Miva reached for it, saying, “Here. Let’s just get a fresh one.”

Tossing it out, she tore open a new one, hooked it up to the line, and handed it to Pari. Turning off her scanner, Miva looked down at Din, “Impressive concussion you’re sporting, _verd.”_ Din’s eyes cracked open and he looked up at her. “It’ll take some time, but it will remedy on its own with rest.”

“Yeah,” Pari spoke, and his eyes dragged back over to her. She told him, “We know how to do the rest thing.”

He gave her statement a surly huff. “Unfortunately.”

Pari swished cloth in the bowl of water. Ringing it out, she brought it back. "Close your eyes, babe."

Din’s eyes shot up to look at her, and Pari froze. Did she really just say that? The corners of his eyes crinkled slightly, showing both endearment and amusement.

Holding out the cloth, she played it cool by raising an eyebrow. He didn't say anything as his lids slid shut, but his grin widened the slightest. Damn it, that smile was going to freaking ruin her, thought Pari as she wiped the cloth over his face with a careful touch.

The water had long since turned a sickly pink, and Miva dumped it before returning with a fresh batch. Slipping the strap to the mask around Din’s head freed up both her hands, and Pari held back his hair as she slid the cloth across his brow. Eyes closed, Din had become still and quiet over the last few minutes. The pain medicine would have taken its full effect by now, and Pari was sure the combination of the drugs along with her gentle ministrations helped lull him into a bit of rest.

Wringing out the cloth again, she leaned to the side, focusing as she moved it along the outside of his ear, then lower to just under his jaw. Having laid flat for over two hours, the majority of the blood had collected there and only halfway finished, she had to get another batch of fresh water.

Din had barely moved as she got up, but as she walked back, she found him tracking her movements. Sitting on the gurney beside him, Pari wrung out the cloth and continued to wipe the area below his jaw. He was watching her as she worked, and after a moment, her eyes slid up to meet his.

Seeing the exhaustion and how damn blood-red they were, Pari thought about the amount of trauma his body had undergone as he tried to get back to them. The lengths he was willing to push himself to for the sake of his foundling were obvious. He would do anything for his son, of that, Pari was certain.

Focusing back on her work, she wiped at the dried blood under his chin. As she did, Din held his head still and continued to watch her through more of those long, groggy blinks. She finished up and dropped the cloth into the basin. Picking up a towel, she moved it along his skin, and Din spoke behind the mask, “For a little bit... before we landed... things started going south pretty fast.”

Pari set the towel aside and touched the side of his face. Eyes slightly unfocused, they roamed over her as he said, “There at the end, I couldn’t see.” Reaching out, Din’s fingertips touched her cheek, “... and I thought, how ironic. You were going to be able to see me, but now I couldn’t see you.”

Her brow gathered under the heartache of thinking how close they had been to losing him. “Vision loss can be common with significant blood loss.” Pari captured his hand and held it in both of hers. “How’s your eyesight now?”

“Much better.”

“But still not normal.”

He shook his head carefully, “Hard to focus, probably just due to the concussion now.”

“Yeah, probably.” Pari looked up at the unit of blood, “Transfusion is almost done. They’ll probably take you back soon.”

His eyes slid closed again. “Okay.”

“Din?”

“...hmm.”

“What do you want to do with your helmet while you’re in surgery? Do you want it with you or do you want me to hold on to it?”

“Whatever’s better.”

She blinked at the odd response. “Din. Look at me.” He did, and she said, “I need an actual opinion on what to do with your helmet when they take you back.”

“I don’t... I don’t think I have much of an opinion about anything right now.”

Grinning wide, Pari told him, “That’s the drugs talking.” Reaching over to the table, she grabbed his helmet. Holding it, she asked, “What do you want to do about it?”

His eyes landed on it for a moment, then drew up to her. An unhindered smile tugged his lips. “You called me babe.”

Pari laughed, “Yes. I did.”

Din closed his eyes again. “It was kinda nice.”

Pari’s grin spread, taking over her face. “Stars, what the hell did they give you?”

“Some really good stuff.”

“Apparently.”

“Five times better than what Rherr brought a couple weeks ago.”

“Yeah, I’m not sure I trust your math skills right now.” He looked at her, and she picked up his helmet, wobbling it in his view. “Not when you can’t answer a simple question about what to do with this.”

“My helmet.”

“Yes.” Leaning in, she trapped his glassy stare with her own. Speaking slowly, she pressed, “What do you want to do with it when they take you back for surgery?”

He blinked at her then finally answered, “Keep it with me.”

“Okay,” Pari answered and set it on the gurney by his side.

A light rapping knock sounded on the door. Pari got to her feet. “I’ll be right back.”

“Okay.”

Taking a step back, she teased, “Don’t go anywhere.”

Eyes closed again, he grinned. “No promises.”

Snickering, Pari walked the few steps to the door. Pulling it open, she found Rherr on the other side. Helmet in his hand, he touched her arm and spoke with a low tone. “How’s he doing?”

She took in a breath, “Hell of a lot better than on the flight over. I think he’s gonna be okay.”

He nodded. “I just wanted to check up on you guys.”

“Where’s Sash?”

“Crashed in my quarters.”

“She eat?”

“I got her to down some ice cream.”

_“Rherr…”_

“What? She was exhausted, half-slept through most of it. At least I got something in her stomach before she went comatose on me.”

“All right. Did you eat?” He shook his head, and she offered, “How about I meet you in the cafeteria after they come and get Din.”

“Yeah, all right. I’ll meet you there.” He started to turn, then added, “Hey, you tell him I said if he tries to pull any more dramatic shit, my promise to kick his ass still stands.”

Pari grinned, “I’ll relay the message.”

Retreating back a step, he pointed at her. “You tell him.”

“I will. Get out of here.”

“Meet you in the cafeteria, _vod.”_

~~

Within only about five minutes after she sent Rherr off to grab a meal, the medics had come to collect Din.

Pari had placed the child in the pram Miva had delivered as the medical team moved around Din with swift efficiency. Talking to him, they let him know what was going on as they packed him up with the IVs and oxygen and then they were on the move.

Holding his hand, Pari got to walk through the halls with them only so far before they had to say their goodbyes. The team seemed sympathetic, giving her a minute as she leaned in and kissed his head. Mostly under the influence of the medications, Din’s eyes had remained shut as he found her arm and rubbed it a couple of times.

Holding his face in her hands, she had said, “Hey.” He looked at her and staring hard into his eyes, she had told him, “You come back to me.”

His good hand had landed over hers and she got a weak, _“Okay.”_

Pari kissed his head one more time and then took a step back. Din still had a hold of her hand as the team eased him forward. They got pulled apart and she watched them take him away.

“So, tell me.” Rherr’s voice pulled her from thoughts, and Pari looked at him from across a table in the cafeteria. He asked, “Is he human?”

Picking a grape out of her fruit salad, she chucked it across the table at him.

With the reflexes of a Mandalorian, Rherr caught it and popped it into his mouth. Chewing, he told her, “You have the table manners of a Hutt.”

“That’s what you get for asking stupid questions.”

“Stupid questions happen when you sit there, staring at your food for five solid minutes. Unless you’ve mastered the process of osmosis, _eat, vod’ika.”_

Pari sighed as she brutally stabbed a piece of fruit with her fork. Shoving it into her mouth, she forced herself to chew it, muttering, “I’m not hungry.”

“You are.” Rherr slid his plate of fries into the center of the table. “You’re just tearing yourself up on the inside with worry.” He continued to eye her from across the table until she gave in and picked up a fry.

Rherr shot her a small smile, “Din’s going to be okay, Pare.”

Mindlessly munching on the fry, she muttered, “It was so close.”

Nodding, he took a bite of his burger, “Yeah, sis, it was.” Talking around the mouthful, he asked, “You know what, though?”

Pushing her fruit salad aside, she grabbed another fry, “What.”

Rherr picked up his glass. Bringing it to his lips, he paused, “Not the closest I’ve been up against.”

Pari’s jaw dropped, “You—?”

Forcing down the drink, he shook his head, “No. Not me personally. But I’ve been with a few guys that cut it closer than we did today, and they managed to pull through. Yeah, Din was fucked up in a scary-urgent kind of way. The scary part is over now. He’s going to pull through also.” 

Looking across the table at her brother, she tried out the words. “He’s going to be fine.”

Leaning in, the intensity of his golden eyes trapped her hazel ones as he confirmed, “He’s going to be fine.”

~~

Walking down the halls of the expansive medical facility, Pari felt both nervous, anxious, and excited as she read room numbers, looking for the one Rherr had given her.

After finishing their meal, they had retreated back to his quarters to wait for an update on Din. Pari had slid in behind her daughter on the narrow bunk set aside for Sash and pulled her against herself. The girl had squirmed for a second, mumbling out something on a sigh before settling against her chest. Holding her close, Pari had laid her cheek against the top of her head and closed her eyes. Stomach doing somersaults, she forced her mind away from the uncertainties surrounding the man in surgery and tried to rest.

It had surprised herself that she had actually managed to drift off for about an hour. Then Rherr was shaking her shoulder, calling her with a soft voice. She’d come awake instantly and sought him out. Finding him leaning over her and Sash, he had told her that Din was out of recovery, doing well, and they had a room number for her.

Ten minutes later found her crossing the compound of the Base with Din’s foundling following alongside her in the pram. Entering the medbay, Pari forced herself to walk as she headed for the side that housed the patient rooms. Looking at the numbers posted on the walls in the hall, she found the one she was looking for.

Standing in front of the closed door, she hesitated. She wasn’t sure why she was hesitating. Over the last two weeks, she had already seen the guy through a set of near-critical injuries, had gotten freaky with him a handful of times, and was clearly trusted enough for him to remove his helmet in front of her. What was the deal?

Overthinking. She was a seasoned veteran at it. Once she recognized the familiar weight of it, she glanced down at the sleeping child beside her and promptly told her mind to shut up. Grabbing the door handle, she gave it a shove and slipped inside. 

The room was a far cry from an ordinary hospital room. Thanks to the prosperity of the Base and its lucrative operations, a specific vision had driven the design of its patient rooms.

Outfitted with dark floors and rich wooden cabinets, the walls were painted a light earthy tone. The dim, warm glow of the recessed lighting brought it all together, urging a feeling of ease and relaxation upon its occupants. Probably considered to be an extravagant layout for a hospital room by most civilians, Pari knew the theory behind it.

Warriors were an intense type of people. Most have dedicated their lives to the creed during their teenage years. From then, the training, the missions, the dangers they find themselves, day in and day out, they become reliant on their strength, speed, and agility. The ability to pick up and go on a moment’s notice, to enter into a situation that holds no guarantee of a predictable outcome, and knowing that each and every battle they enter, could be their last, it becomes their world.

Year and years of living this way have the habit of creating a sense of perpetual motion for the soldier. Being active, on the go, working, _doing_... Movement and action become like breathing. Being forced into a time of inaction feels uncomfortable—wrong. Like an itch they can’t scratch and won’t ease over time. It breeds anxiety and, more times than not, will urge them back on their feet long before it is wise.

To combat this anxiety that commonly creeps up every time a Mandalorian gets knocked down, the rooms in the medical facility had been designed to give a sense of comfort and relaxation. By taking out as much of the cold, clinical feeling usually present in most hospital rooms, they found their warriors were more apt to take at least _some_ time in allowing their bodies to heal. It didn’t completely solve the issue of that anxious need to get back at it, but in the long run, it helped enough justify the extra cost.

Stepping away from the door, Pari stared at the bed directly across the room from her. It wasn’t a surprise to see Din with his helmet on.

Removing it must feel so foreign and wrong to him. Alone, in a strange place, surrounded mostly by people he didn’t know and couldn’t trust yet, Pari understood. It would take time for him to be okay with being around others without it. In fact, there was a reasonable probability he’d never feel a hundred percent okay about it, and she understood that too. Din was here. He was alive, and he was going to be okay. That’s all that mattered. Everything else would happen as it happens.

As she approached, Pari took in how he lay slightly elevated and very still in the bed. Eyes flicking over to the monitor silently keeping track of his vitals, she did a quick read as she grabbed a chair and brought it to his bedside. Everything seemed to be looking pretty good. His o2 levels were still a little low. All things considered, that wasn’t too concerning. He’d been given that transfusion, but depending on how much blood he lost during surgery, his body would need a day or so to replenish and fully stabilize. At least he was just on a saline drip right now; no additional transfusion necessary.

Setting the chair down close to his good side, Pari looked him over again as she sat. Bad arm nestled inside a black sling, she watched it rise and fall with each natural breath. Compared to the chaos of a few hours ago, seeing Din so still and quiet, her eyes raised back to watch his vitals for another few seconds. He was doing good. He was going to be fine, she assured herself again.

Taking in a deep breath loosened the tension of worry constricting her chest, and she reached for his hand. Closing it within hers, it was nice to feel the warmth of his skin instead of the clammy chill that had settled over him during their trip to the Base. Holding his hand, she noticed the thin clear tubing of a nasal cannula snaking out from under his helmet. The extra oxygen made sense, considering his blood gasses were running a little low. Aside from that, she also saw the cold pack wrapped around the back of his neck, soothing the strained muscles and tendons affected by the whiplash.

Pari looked down at the babe in the pram as she stroked her thumb along Din’s hand with light strokes. Sitting there in the dim warmth of the room, she was thinking about turning the spare bedroom into the child’s room when Din’s hand flinched in her grasp. Her eyes raised to see his fingers curling around her hand.

Din’s head rolled carefully against the pillows until his visor landed upon her. Leaning in, Pari smiled. “Hey. I’m sorry if I woke you.”

His head shook the slightest, “Wasn’t completely out.”

Pari could barely pick out the softly spoken words. They were muffled as the helmet’s speaker didn’t pick them up, and she asked, “You don’t have the seal of your helmet engaged?”

Clearing his throat, he spoke a little bit louder for her, “No. Tried it, but the seal crimped off the o2.”

Pari nodded, “Makes sense.” She thought, then asked, “So, I’m assuming they cleaned it out for you?”

“Yes.”

She could hear the smile in his answer, and she pulled up a memory of it to match the sound.

“How’s the pain?”

“It's...” he seemed to consider his answer, “still there, but farther away.”

“Good. I don’t ever want to see you in that much pain ever again.” His grip tightened the slightest. Adjusting her hand, Pari interlocked their fingers. “So...” she cocked her head at him a little bit, “So if the tech in your helmet is off, that means the HUD isn’t operational, right?”

“Right.”

“So... can you see out of that thing?”

“Yes.” Again, with the sound of a smile. “I don’t always use the HUD view. Most times, it’s just tinted glass.”

“So, lying in a dim room, it’s got to be pretty dark in there for you right now.”

“Pretty much.”

“Probably feels nice with the photosensitivity I know you’ve got going on with that concussion.”

“It helps.”

“You should probably stop talking and get some sleep.”

“You keep asking questions.”

“Okay, so if I stop asking questions, will you go to sleep?”

“Probably not yet.”

Pari sighed, and he pulled his hand out of her grip. She watched him hook his thumb over the lip of the helmet. He started to push it back, and she grabbed his wrist. “Hey.”

“Yes?”

“Can we talk about this for just a second?”

He paused, “...okay.”

Pari pulled his hand away from the edge of the helm. Holding it in both of hers, she leaned forward. “I don’t want you to feel any sort of pressure to take the helmet off around me.” He didn’t respond, and she explained, “I know about how long you’ve lived within it. I know how important it was for you to follow the Way of your old Tribe. I know how devotedly you kept your vows every day for over twenty years. I _know_ , okay? There is no pressure from my end for you to go without it any more than you’re comfortable with.”

His grip on her hand increased, “I want to take off for you.”

“You don’t have to, though. I don’t expect you to.”

“You mentioned that.”

She grinned, “Yes, I did. Just... promise me that you won’t take it off, _just_ because you think I expect it or want it off. Promise you’ll only pull it off when you want to, and I promise never to nag you about this again.”

“I can agree to those terms.”

“Okay, then.” Grinning still, she released his hand and watched him grip the bottom lip of steel and push it back. As it came off, she flashed back to how coated in blood and sweat he had been that first time. There had been so much pain and uncertainty in his eyes.

This time, there was a stark difference in his unveiling. Watching it come off, she found a clean face with soft features. Blood and sweat properly washed more thoroughly than her little wipe had done, the way his dark hair fluttered back into place after being pulled up by the helm, it was clear that someone had helped him clean up. Just by being clean, he _looked_ like he felt better.

Blood and sweat long gone, a certain level of uncertainty remained in the eyes still marked by the trauma he’d endured. Regardless, he was adorable, and she couldn’t help the stupid giddy smile that broke out over her face as she looked at him.

Bringing his helmet down, Din tucked it by his side. Smirking a little, he glanced away. “Keep looking at me like that, and you’ll make me want to take it off all the time.”

Pari laughed. “I can’t help it. I’ll try to resist from now on.”

Din went to shake his head and then stopped with a wince. Resting back against the pillows, he closed his eyes. “Don’t. It’s nice, making you smile.”

Getting up, Pari moved to sit on the side of the bed. Hips touching, her hand settled on his shoulder as she looked into his eyes. Still slightly unfocused and red, he didn’t shy away this time from meeting hers, and she asked, “Can I kiss you?”

His brow pinched a little at the question. “You don’t need to ask.”

She leaned in a little more, “I didn’t want to assume just because you have the helmet off... that you’re okay with unsolicited touches and such.”

Amusement lit in his eyes. “You didn’t ask the other night in the barn.”

Pari grinned, “No, I guess I didn’t.”

“Okay, then.”

She could feel the heat of the blush that crept over her cheeks as she leaned in and pressed her lips against his. She pulled back after a second, just far enough for the tips of their noses to touch and looked at him. His eyes met hers, and she leaned in again.

Din touched the side of her face, and Pari closed her eyes. Moving a little deeper into the kiss behind the darkness of her lids, it felt familiar, and she thought back to the barn. The way he had felt and tasted in the pitch dark. It made her realize that Din wasn’t the only one experiencing something new. Kissing him in the light, looking at him, being able to see the desire and contentedness that softened his already gentle features, it was all so wonderfully new for her.

Hearing him taking in a pull from the oxygen under his nose, Pari broke off the kiss and pulled back. The side of her face rested against his for a beat, and then she leaned back. She found his eyes closed, but he opened them as she moved. He looked exhausted.

She was about to try and talk him into getting some rest again when he gestured toward the pram beside the bed. “How is he?”

Pari looked down at the bundle. “Sleeping still. I’m a little concerned. I mean, it’s been hours, and he hasn’t moved... I don’t know when he had something to drink last, and I’m worried about dehydration...”

Touching her arm, his eyes slid shut, “He’ll be okay.” She looked at him, and he said, “He’s done this before, after using his powers. The bigger the job, the longer he crashes. The first time he held back a Mudhorn—slept for a few days.” Eyes red and weary, he looked at her again, “I think it’s like a type hibernation. Some creatures hibernate for months without food or drink. He’ll be okay. He just needs to sleep it off.”

Pari nodded, “Makes sense.” She looked from the foundling to Din, “Do you want him?”

“Sure.”

Reaching into the pram, she pulled out the baby and laid him along Din’s side. His arm settled around the swaddled bundle, tucking him into his side before taking her hand again. Head tilted against the pillows, he gazed at her as his eyes drooped lower. Whatever meds he was on were stronger than he was right now, and he was losing the battle to stay awake.

Leaning forward, she grazed her fingertips along his brow. His eyes closed on an extra-long blink and she sweetened the pot by sliding her hand through his hair. The longer her touch caressed through his soft wavy strands, the longer those blinks became. Pretty soon, he was only cracking his eyes open every so often, and she told him, “Hey. How about you stop fighting it and just go to sleep?”

Din’s eyes closed again, but an uneasy crease cut into his brow, “In the _Insurgent,_ I was a little concerned for a while that I wouldn’t make it to this point.” He looked at her, “Was afraid to close my eyes. Afraid I wouldn’t open them again.”

The memory of the flight over, how close they had been to losing him, the pain of it twisted her heart painfully, and she gave him a small smile. Leaning close, she looked at his tired gaze and stroked her hand over his head, “I was afraid too. So...” her eyes fell shut, “ _so_ afraid.” Taking a breath, Pari looked into his eyes again. “But hey. You made it—the both of you. You left your galaxy, hopped dimensions, and found us again. The hard part is over. You and your foundling, Din, you both made it.”

Closing his eyes, he gave her a tired little smile, “I guess we did.”

“You absolutely did.” Closing the gap, she pressed her lips against his. “You made it, and you’re safe. You can rest now.” She kissed him again, and he leaned into it a little.

When she pulled back, he looked at her, saying, “You should go and get some rest.”

Pari shook her head around a silent laugh. “Kind of rich, coming from the guy who is so drained, he’s practically talking in his sleep.”

“I don’t know what time it is, but I know it’s late.”

She nodded. “It is, but I’m not ready to walk away from you just yet. Probably won’t be able to get rid of me the whole time you’re here.”

Eyes closed again, he smirked, and she melted. Din told her, “That wouldn’t be all bad.” His thumb stroked over her hand, “Keeping you close.”

“I’m glad you feel that way, because, the way I see it, you and your foundling; me, Sash and Rherr... even that derpy dog of mine—” his lips tugged upward, and she grinned at him, “We’re connected now. We kind of make up this hodgepodge kind of family. A little mismatched, a little off-kilter, sure, but that just keeps things interesting.”

_“Aliit.”_

The word came out on a hoarse whisper, and Pari smiled. She knew that one. Kissing his brow, she touched his face. “ _Aliit—_ clan, family. It’s yours if you want it, but there is absolutely no pressure there. _”_

“Sounds kind of nice, actually.”

“Yeah. It really does.” Pari touched her forehead to Din’s, “So how about, you give in and get the rest your body needs to heal, so I can take you home.”

_TBC_

**Translations:**

Aliit--family/clan

verd—soldier/warrior

ner verd—our soldier/warrior

gar verd—your soldier/warrior

vod—brother/sister

baar'ur—medic

dar'manda—a state of not being Mandalorian, one who has lost his heritage, his identity, and his soul - regarded with absolute dread by most traditional-minded Mando'ade

‘lek—yeah

Elek—Yes

k’suvarir, verd—Understand, soldier? (suvarir = understand. The k’ is an imperative prefix – used as a direct order)

K'atini, verd—It’s only pain, soldier.

K'oyacyi, vod. Suvarir?— Stay alive, brother. Understand?


	18. "Ain't it hard keeping it so hardcore?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, here is the FINAL, final chapter to Out of Space and Time. Sorry, guys. I was not happy with how I had ended this story in the previous chapter, so then this happened.

* * *

Pari was floating through one of those semi-alert dozing sleeps that she had perfected over the last nine years of her life. Typically employed while Sash was seriously ill, her half-sleeping vigil was performed at home—in her bed, on the couch, or in her daughter’s bed. One part of her brain asleep; the other remaining alert as it listened for Sash's voice or any other indication that something had changed in her condition.

Right then, however, instead of being in her home lying on a familiar piece of furniture, Pari was curled up in an overstuffed recliner in a hospital room on Base. Sitting beside Din’s bed, she drifted in and out, listening for the same sort of thing. She had surfaced a few times fully since he'd given in to the pull of the drugs and fallen asleep. Adjusting in her seat every time she woke, Pari had looked at the time. Somewhere around three hours had passed, and she was just starting to cycle back into a light slumber when the alert part of her mind registered Din calling for her in a soft voice.

Eyes snapping open on a quick inhale, her body came awake, moving on autopilot, as her brain shook off the gripping dredges of sleep. Her gaze locked onto Din. She found him awake and was peeling back the covers on the bed.

Sitting up fully, she stifled a yawn against the inside of her arm. “What’s up?”

“Fresher,” was all he said and then started kicking down the blankets. He only got in a few movements before stopping with a quick hand to his stomach.

“Okay, wait,” Pari got up. “Stop moving for a second.” Picking up the child, she laid him in the pram and then turned back to the bed and untangled the blankets from Din’s feet.

Pushing down the covers, she found him wearing thin, steel-blue cotton pants. His shirt was the same color. Short-sleeved, the bottom hem came to rest at his hips. Fastened closed at his side, the two flaps that made up the front crossed over one another, making for quick access to what lies beneath. Closed, the shirt formed a deep—and in Pari’s opinion, quite lovely—v-neck that showed off the perfectly-formed hollow at the base of his throat.

Chiding her mind for taking the slight detour, she offered Din her hand as he sat up. Taking it, he swung his legs over the side of the bed.

“Sit there for just a minute and let your blood pressure adjust to the new position,” she told him while temporarily disconnecting the IV line, saving him from having to drag the pole around with him.

Clamping off the IV, Pari detached the line from the port by his hand. “How does sitting up feel? Woozy at all?”

“Some,” Din admitted, pulling away the clear tubing under his nose.

He was adjusting his arm in the sling as she draped the cannula over the head of the bed. “You’re still working to boost your oxygen levels, so expect to feel a little worse when you get on your feet. Plus, that concussion is going to make everything difficult for a while.”

Looking at him, she touched his arm. “You going to let me walk with you?”

Squinting, Din looked like he was going to say something but just ended up nodding as he eased himself to his feet.

Other than steading him a couple of times, the short trip to the refresher was uneventful, thank the stars. It was after she’d heard the toilet flush and the water in the sink turn off that Din had called her. The way his voice wavered, Pari didn’t hesitate before walking into the room.

She found him leaning against the sink. Left arm propped against the counter, it seemed that was all that was keeping him on his feet.

“Hey, guy,” Pari spoke softly, taking his face in her hands. “Getting kind of pale on me here.” 

He grimaced a little, and she asked, “Can you make it back to the bed, or do we need some help?”

Din shook his head, already pushing off the counter. “I got it.” 

“Okay, hey...” Pari walked beside him and took his hand. “Put your arm around my shoulders, and we’ll just take it easy.”

Din let her guide his arm over her shoulders. Unlike the night she had found him lying on the bottom deck of his ship, Pari didn’t have to urge him to lean on her as they walked to the bed. “Just a few more steps. You good? Not gonna pass out on me?”

“I’m good.” The way he was puffing made it less than convincing, but they made it, and Pari eased him to sit on the side of the bed. Din scooted himself back as she helped him bring up his feet. Watching him sink back into the pillows, she got an inside glimpse at the expressions that had gone unseen behind his helmet a couple of weeks ago while he had struggled against his injuries on her couch.

Pari studied his pallor as she settled the blankets over him. Reaching for the oxygen tubing, she asked, “Still feeling faint?”

He looked at her as she leaned to situate the cannula under his nose. She was running it over his ears, and he commented, “I feel like I’m on a leash with that thing.”

Pari smirked as she cinched it loosely under his chin. Eyes rising to meet his, she replied, “That doesn’t answer my question.”

“Not as much.” Closing his eyes, Din breathed through his nose. “It’s fading.”

“Hence, the leash right now.” Rubbing his arm, she told him, “You’re still rebuilding your red-blood supply. Put up with it for the rest of the night, and I’ll lay you odds that you won’t need it anymore by the time morning rolls around.”

He watched her as she unclamped the IV. “How much longer on that, do you think?”

Pari let the saline flow into the trash for a second before she screwed the end back into the port. “That, I don’t know, but your surgeon has ordered nothing by mouth for now.” She sat down close to him, and Din draped his arm over her lap as she continued, “It’s because of that puncture in your lower esophagus they stitched up. So, until your doc changes the order, you’re stuck with the IV, I’m afraid.”

The expression Din shot her was an unrestrained scowl, and she grinned. “But, hey, he didn’t order a feeding tube, so that indicates it’s only a day or two deal. You won’t be thirsty with all those fluids they’re pumping into you. Just gotta be a little patient.”

His eyes roamed over hers and then the corner of his mouth tugged into a lopsided smirk, “Will you make some more of that meaty stew when I get out of here?”

Pari smiled wide. “As soon as you can tolerate the spice, yes.”

Closing his eyes, Din let out a deep exhale. “I’m _really_ going to miss having bacta.”

Pari rubbed his arm, thinking about when he had explained to her the properties behind the substance and how it accelerated healing to stunning proportions.

They had briefly considered having him bring back a sample to see if the Mandos in the labs on Base could come up with a way to manufacture it. In the end, it was decided by those who get paid to make the big decisions that introducing a foreign bacterium into an environment with no known predatory agents would be a _bad_ idea, especially if that bacteria was as old and robust as they estimated bacta to be.

Looking over at the child sleeping in the pram, Pari gave into a silent yawn. Her eyes flicked up to the bottom right of the vitals monitor. 03:24. She blinked away the wateriness and when she turned back, Din was looking at her.

She gave him a crooked little grin, and he told her. “Go back to Rherr’s quarters and get some rest.”

Tipping her head to the side, she smiled sweetly, “Pass.”

“Then come here.” He gave her arm a little tug, and Pari gave the offer some serious consideration. When she didn’t move, Din winced the slightest as he scooted over in the bed. “Lay down.”

Keeping her head tilted, she asked, “Are you being chivalrous?”

“I’m being practical.”

“Practical?” Pari feigned disappointment. “Is that all?”

Closing his eyes on a grin, he tugged her arm again, “I also want you next to me. Okay?”

Humming around a satisfied smile, Pari didn’t resist him a second time. Slipping her feet under the covers, she edged onto her side. Din’s hand found hers as she nuzzled into the crook of his neck, and Pari closed her eyes. Taking in a deep breath of him, she felt herself relax and grow heavy with sleep.

Easing her body flush against Din’s good side, she pressed her lips to the side of his neck. His fingers intertwined with hers as the side of his face leaned against the top of her head. About to drift off, she asked, “How’s the clavicle doing?”

Din sounded on the verge of sleep himself, answering, “Much better than I had expected—even with the pain meds.”

Draping a leg over his, Pari pressed as close to him as possible. He was warm and alive, and she let the feel of him soothe what remained of her frayed nerves. Teetering closer to that drop-off edge of sleep, she yawned again, mumbling, “They must have glued it.”

Slipping rapidly past the veil of consciousness, the last thing she heard was his soft chuckle, “Now who’s the one talking in their sleep?”

She just smiled against his shoulder and gave into the void.

~~

Two days later, Din was sitting up in the bed, staring at the surgeon in disbelief. “You... _glued it?”_

Pari had been sitting beside him on the bed when the surgeon stopped in to check him over, just like he did every morning. The doctor had taken Din off the oxygen that first morning like Pari had guessed he would, and last night had given the green light to start him on clear liquids. Pleased with Din’s progress, he had come by to explain to them the extent of his injuries, and what had been done to fix them, before signing his release forms.

Starting with the fractured collarbone, the surgeon had told Din that it had been an almost complete break. Then, he went on to say that they had glued the broken ends back into alignment.

After staring at the surgeon, Din had turned to look at her, and Pari smiled. “I told you.”

The surgeon’s focus switched from his datapad to his patient. “Never heard of that before?”

Din turned back. “Gluing a bone? No.”

“It’s nothing fancy. The glue is a biologic; your body will process it as the bone mends. It’s a good procedure, only a few puncture marks, no incision, and it helps to reduce the pain as it heals, but that’s it. The bone is still broken. You’ll still be down an arm for the next six weeks.”

Leaning in, he spoke slowly as if Din was hard of hearing. _“Use the sling, verd._ Otherwise, the weight of your arm will put pressure on the mending bone, and it won’t heal properly.”

“All right.”

Going back to his notes, the surgeon continued. “One rib snapped completely; had to stabilize it with a flexible titanium plate. I went ahead and stabilized the other two that were fractured.” He looked up, “Those seemed to have been a slightly older break.” Din nodded, and the surgeon asked, _“What_ have you been doing with yourself, _verd?”_

Din exhaled deeply. “It’s been a rough few weeks for me.”

“Apparently so.” Giving Din a quick assessing look, he went on to say, “The good news is the ribs shouldn’t bother you too much as they heal. Moving forward, you might notice some aching in cold weather. If that happens, you can take some over the counter pain meds if it becomes bothersome.”

Looking down at his datapad again, he gave the screen a swipe. “The rib that snapped cut a nice slice through your liver. That was the main cause behind the internal bleeding.” He looked up, “That coagulant they added to your saline drip on the flight over here probably kept you from bleeding out completely.”

Pari looked down, and Din squeezed her hand as the surgeon continued, “The organ was sutured, and it will heal. If you would like it to heal _completely_ , for the next two weeks, you’re either on your ass or you’re on your back. No lifting anything over ten pounds. Easy walks are encouraged, but that is the extent of your physical activity for the next fourteen days.”

Giving Din a hard look, he added, _“You_ decide how well you will heal. You follow my orders, and you can expect the organ to make a ninety-seven percent recovery.”

“That’s not healing completely,” Pari pointed out.

He looked at her. “Technically, you’re right. We need to factor in scar tissue. It’s inevitable. Ninety-seven percent recovery is still high enough to be considered a full recovery. His body won’t even register the difference.”

The surgeon turned back to Din, “The puncture to your lower esophagus needed a few sutures.” Jabbing a finger at him, he ordered, “Liquid diet for the next three days; then you can upgrade to soft foods for the remainder of the week. _Soft. Foods,_ ” the surgeon articulated again slowly. “To be clear, if you have to chew, it ain’t soft.” He leveled a look at Din, “We clear?”

“Yes.”

“Good.” He turned and addressed Pari with a lighter tone, “I’ll have his medic give you a list of what is and is _not_ allowed over the next week.” 

Pari fixed him with a skeptical look. “That would be helpful. Thank you.”

He gave her a nod, then turned back to Din. His gruff demeanor faded a touch. “Rest up, _vod._ Recover—and be smart about it.”

Din gave him a nod, and the surgeon walked out.

Pari watched him leave and then her head swiveled to face Din, “He was kind of a dick.”

Din grinned at that. “Seasoned Mandalorian healers typically are. Warriors are stubborn. They need to be harsh to get their point across.” Pari frowned at him, and Din told her, “Actually, he was pretty nice.”

~~

Recovering at Pari’s house was still recovering; low-key, boring, and long. It was, however, light years better than being in the hospital. He was on his third day back at her place. Almost a full week since the _Crest_ had reentered her galaxy.

It was sometime in the afternoon. Resting back against Pari in the bed, he felt himself zoning out as a fresh dose of pain meds flowed through his system. Feeling the rise and fall of her chest behind him, Din watched fat snowflakes fall outside of her bedroom window. Swirling on the wind, the sheer numbers and the rate at which they continued to fall was mesmerizing to him.

It wasn’t the first time he’d seen snow. Not by far. He’d worked in snow more times than he liked to admit. The snow was a pain in the ass. It made everything harder—and wet. No matter how thoroughly you knock it off, stomped it off or wiped it off your boots. It _always_ found a way to track inside the ship.

Now, though, maybe it was the way Pari’s fingertips ran through his hair or perhaps it was the pain medication that softened his opinion of things but watching the snowfall on this upside-down planet of Jakku, for the first time that he could remember, Din had the thought that it was nice to look at.

He watched it fall until his eyes began to droop.

Laying and hand on the baby wedged between them, Din leaned his forehead against Pari’s neck and closed his eyes. She shifted a little, then the soothing cold of a frozen gel pack spread over his fractured collarbone. Sighing from the relief of it, Din fell asleep.

It seemed like only a blink, and not the twenty minutes he knew it had to have been, as he felt Pari remove the cold pack. Opening his eyes, he saw her putting it back off to the side. Her hand came down over his aching head again. Fingers running through his hair, her soft voice soothed, “Go back to sleep.”

Letting his eyes fall shut again, Din followed orders.

Waking later, he wasn’t in a hurry to open his eyes as the heavy grogginess continued to press down over him. Feeling the mound of pillows behind him, a thought floated through his mind that he barely remembered Pari slipping out from behind him, which was kind of impressive. Even though the break to his collarbone had been stabilized, pretty much any movement of his arm or shoulder was still painful enough to make him cringe internally. Either he had been seriously out of it, or Pari was just getting that good at evasive maneuvers.

The grogginess lightened enough to allow him to surface all the way, and that was when Din picked up on the sound. He’d been hearing something that whole time. He just hadn’t been awake enough for it to register fully. Now that it had, he found it to be soft and familiar, and he smiled.

Opening his eyes, Din found his _ad_ sitting on his chest. Swaying back and forth in an easygoing motion, the child was singing to him in his light, little voice. It was his song. The one he always hummed to the foundling when he was upset and needed to be soothed. Now his son was singing it to him, trying to comfort him as he lay injured. It made his heart swell. 

“Hey, womp rat.” His voice came out sleep-heavy and hoarse. Din cleared his throat, adding, “Nice of you to join us again.”

The babe smiled wide and threw his palms down over Din’s chest, giving him a few excited pats. The motion flirted close to his injury, and Din laid his hand over the two tiny green ones. “Easy.” He pointed a few inches to the child’s left. “Broken. Okay? You have to be nice to me for a while.”

His son’s face pinched in displeasure. _You hurt with pain._

“Sometimes. It’s better than it was.” Din rubbed a finger along the child’s cheek, “What about you? Are you okay?”

 _Yes!_ His kid grinned, _She... the woman..._

“Pari.” _P a r i,_ Din spelled then formed the letter p and tapped it near his opposite shoulder to remind the child of the shortcut.

 _Pari,_ his _ad_ corrected himself with the shortcut. _She’s nice._

Din smiled at him, “Yes, she is.”

_She gave me... sticks. To eat._

Face pinching, Din laughed, _“What?”_

_Sticks. Cold. Orange. Crunchy._

“Okay. A snack that looked like sticks.”

His kid looked at him. _She called it: s t i c k s_

He was getting the stupid treatment. “Okay, fine. You ate sticks. Were they good sticks?”

A big smile. _Yes._

“Good. Did you meet Sash?” His kid cocked his head at him, and Din signed, _S a s h._ Forming the letter ‘s’ he tapped it by his shoulder. “Sash is Pari’s little girl.” He picked up the multicolored lizard sitting on his chest beside the kid, “She gave you this.”

The boy smiled. _No._

Din hummed, “Probably at school still.” They were quiet and then taking a breath, Din asked again, “You're okay? Not hurt?”

_I okay. Why do you hurt?_

Frowning in thought, Din rubbed the edge of his child’s ear, “When we were in the _Crest,_ when we were coming out of the tunnel of lights... do you remember that?”

_Little bit._

“Do you remember—” Din stopped. He hadn’t been thinking. Damn it; he hadn’t been thinking. The pain medicine fogged his brain and made him an idiot. Damn it.

His kid was looking at him, waiting for him to continue. If he did, if he asked him about feeling the force of deceleration that slammed into them and fucked him up so badly, if the kid remembered that and realized he’d protected himself, but didn’t have time to protect Din... it would destroy his little heart.

Whipping up some quick damage control wasn’t easy when your mind was drugged. Still, Din did his best and finished with, “...do you remember going through more than one tunnel of lights?”

 _Yes!_ His foundling freaking loved going through the wormholes, and Din breathed a sigh of relief. _The second one was... different. Lots of colors._

Din smiled, “It was, wasn’t it?”

 _But_ his kid’s smile dropped away. _Why are you broken? Hurting?_

Like a canine with a bone…

Din sighed and, Maker forgive him; he lied through his damn teeth. “Do you remember how the ship got sucked through those wormholes a long while ago—when I got stuck and couldn’t come back?” His _ad_ nodded. “And then it went through them again to get back to you the other day?” Another nod. “I guess going back and forth like that too much is a bad thing on the body. It made me weak. I got hurt.”

His son looked sad for him. Being dishonest with him was tough on Din. He had never lied to the kid before. Never figured he’d have a reason to. He knew though, freaking _knew,_ the boy would be distraught over not enveloping him into whatever protective little bubble he managed to whip up when the shit hit the fan. This, right now, this was necessary.

Looking at his son, Din told him, “...but you’ve seen me hurt before." He ran a couple of fingers down the child’s shoulder, stressing, “I’ll be okay.”

_Use the spray with powers like mine?_

Din smiled and shook his head, “Can’t. They don’t have bacta over here.”

His kid’s tiny jaw fell open. _Why?_

“I don't know,” Din told him as the noise of a minor commotion spilled out from the kitchen. Rherr must have arrived.

His kid stared at him as the voice of Pari’s brother drifted through from beyond the closed bedroom door. Din told him, “That’s Rherr.” _R h e r r._

His child made the letter ‘r’ and tapped it by his shoulder. Din grinned at him, “That’s right. Have you met him yet?”

He shook his head. _Kind? Good?_

“Yes.”

They heard Rherr laugh at something, the rich sound of it carried efficiently through the house, and his _ad_ looked a little bit unsure. _Safe?_

Din smiled at him. “Yes. Rherr is safe. Very safe—everyone here is safe.”

His kid perked up at that. _Even Rherr!_

“Yes, even Rherr.”

 _No. Rherr. _His kid insisted.

Din blinked at him. The child had been using the shortcut— _Oh._ “Are you talking about Riley?”

 _Yes!_ His kid signed so enthusiastically; his little bottom bounced along his chest. The movement made the break in his collarbone flare as his healing insides were jostled. 

Wincing, Din stopped the abuse by grabbing a handful of his shirt to drag him down by his left side. He got a look, and Din rubbed the child behind his ear with gentle strokes. Taking a breath, Din told him, “You have to be easy with me for a little while. Without bacta, it’s going to take some time for me to heal, _ad’ika._ We’re both going to have to be patient about that.”

Leaning forward, the babe touched the edge of the sling. _Is that why your arm won’t work?_

“It works. See?” Din raised the limb slightly, rotated it a little, and flexed his hand for the child to see. “It’s just attached to the bone up here.” He pointed to his clavicle. “That’s broken. It hurts if I use my arm. The sling helps it not to hurt as much—helps the bone to heal faster.”

Looking a little shy, his kid raised a tentative hand and made a sign that Din had christened _The Magic Hand_.

Shaking his head, Din told him, “No, _ad_. I won’t let you help. Besides. You just woke up after a very long sleep.” His kid nailed him with his pouty look, and Din held firm, “No.” Then tacked on, “No cheating, either. You try and sneak-heal me while I’m asleep, I’ll know.” He gave his kid a stern look. “I won’t be happy. No magic hands. Okay?”

_Yes, Buir._

“Promise?”

 _Promise._ The kid wasn’t happy, but he wasn’t surprised either. It was an old song and dance between them.

Din looked at him and sighed, “I guess we need to come up with a new sign for Riley... since his and Rherr’s name both begin with the letter ‘r.” The front door shut and a new voice rang out in the house. The kid’s ears perked straight up over his little green head.

_Sash?_

“Seems so. Want to go find out?”

_Yes._

“Alright,” Din replied and tried to hold back the grimace as he sat up. The way his kid was watching him told him he hadn’t been very successful. Sitting on the side of the bed, Din gave himself a second to take a couple of breaths.

The concussion remained a significant issue for him. Even on pain meds, his head ached constantly. He still had trouble focusing. Using the datapad or watching TV was entirely out of the question for him, and his balance remained hit or miss—the drugs had a way of exasperating that. Yet, compared to how he had felt almost a week ago, there had been a marked improvement.

The swirly feeling in his head settled, and he opened his eyes. His _ad_ was standing on the bed next to him, looking up at him with concern shining in his big eyes. Leaning down a little, Din touched his forehead to the boy’s. “Stop worrying. I’m going to have to move slow for a while. You’re not used to it, but it’ll be okay. I'll be okay.”

His foundling reached up and touched the side of his face and gave it a soft pat. Din smiled and pressed a kiss to the top of the child’s head. “Come on. Sash has been dying to meet you.”

Din got to his feet and then his _ad_ was handing him his helmet. He looked at it for a moment and then reached out and took it.

Looking down at the black glass of his visor, a conflict started up in his mind. It was the same struggle that arose every time he considered stepping into the house proper without placing the helmet over his head. Walking around without it made him feel naked. No, it was more than that. It was like walking around without his skin. For so long, his uniform, his armor, and his helmet, they had been a second skin for him, the part of him the rest of the world got to see.

Now that he had taken up a new Way, one that allowed him to show his face to anyone he chose, Din constantly fought against the deeply ingrained past teachings within himself. They battle with him over the need to wear his helmet versus the desire to wear it. It was hard. Trying to explain it to Pari one night, he compared it to trying to kick an addiction.

He was working on it. It was going to take time. The fact that he never felt pressured to go around without it helped a great deal. Not having that as a stressor made it easier on him during the times he decided he would face the rest of the house without the visor.

Rherr and Sash had already seen him without it a few times since he left the Base hospital. Like Pari, whether he wore it or not, didn’t seem to make a difference to them. Din’s thought a few times on how different things would have been if their lives didn’t already revolve around Mandalorians and their culture. Or if Sash didn’t think he sounded “so cool” when he spoke through the vocoder in the helmet. Din smirked.

His child’s little hands slapped against the helmet in his hand making Din realize he’d been standing there looking at it for too long. Giving the kid a smirk, he laid his helmet on the bed. “C’mon, squirt.”

Din rounded the end of the bed, and his kid called out to him. “Eh?” he pointed back at his helmet.

“No. It’s okay.” The child looked confused. Din told him, “I don’t need to wear it all the time over here.”

A slow, satisfied kind of smile spread along the kid’s face, and he slid down from the bed. Running to the door, he waited for Din to open it and peeked out into the hallway. Din stepped out beside him.

The child looked up at him, and Din told him, “Looks like the coast is clear. Which way are you going to go?” Considering the hallway ended abruptly to their left, his _ad_ made a wise choice and turned right.

They walked down the hallway, this time his kid walking alongside Din’s careful pace as he touched the wall the couple of times the floor got wavy. The end of the hall dumped them out into an empty living room, and they continued through, following the voices coming from the kitchen.

Rherr looked up from where he was sitting at the kitchen island as they walked in. He gave Din a nod. His eyes dropped, and he smiled at where his foundling was peeking out from behind his leg. Getting up, he walked over and crouched down a couple of feet away.

_Hi, verd’ika._

Din smirked. It wasn’t all that shocking that Rherr would know how to sign. He was taught while growing up within his Tribe, and it looked like the same practices mirrored over here as well. Sash and Pari had been learning by way of a program he had added to his datapad. They were both picking it up well, but Sash was effortlessly excelling at learning the new language. Children always do.

Now, as Rherr greeted the child in his own language, Din watched a big chunk of the kid’s inhibitions get swept away. Still clinging to his leg, his son took a step toward the smiling Mandalorian in white and orange armor.

 _Hi,_ his kid told Rherr. Reaching out a little shyly, he touched his chest plate. _Colored._

 _Yes._ Rherr spoke as he signed. _Can you tell me which colors they are?_

The child pointed to the center of a plate, _white,_ and then his finger slid over and ran along the edge of it, _orange._

 _That’s right._ Rherr smiled. _You’re_ very _smart, aren’t you?_

_Yes!_

Rherr laughed, and Din decided it was time to sit. His kid eyed him as he moved away the eight or so feet to pull out one of the chairs at the table. He sat down, and his _ad’s_ attention slid back to Rherr.

_Buir’s armor is not colored._

Rherr nodded as he spoke. _Some aren’t._

_What do your colors mean?_

“You want to come back over there with me, and I’ll tell you?” Rherr asked, holding out his hands.

His child looked up to him, and Din gave him a nod. “Go ahead. I’ll be right here.”

The kid looked back to the new Mandalorian, and Din could tell he wanted to, but he was still hesitant. Rherr picked up on it also, because then he made things interesting by signing without speaking. _Are you fast, verd’ika?_

The unexpected style of questioning piqued the child’s interest. _Yes._

Rherr shot a conspiring look over his shoulder at Pari, then back to the kid, _Pari is making an apple pie. If we sit over there, are you fast enough to snag a cinnamon apple slice from the bowl when she turns around?_

Watching the exchange, Din dropped his tired head into his hand. Rherr’s known his kid for five damn minutes and was already actively conspiring with him. Too curious to see where this would all land them, Din remained quiet as he watched.

He wished he could say he was surprised to see his kid agree to Rherr’s nefarious plan so quickly, but the kid had a wild streak a mile wide. He loved the excitement. Forgetting to remain shy, he smiled and then went to Rherr.

Pari’s brother picked him up and gave Din a wink in passing before he took him to the island and sat down.

Wiping her hands on a towel, Pari gave the babe a soft smile. Rherr got a look of warning. “Stay away from the apples.”

He raised his hands in surrender, watching her as she grabbed a bottle of juice from the refrigerator. Walking past him, she reiterated her previous warning with a simple point, and then came over to the table. Sitting down, she handed Din the juice. “How’s the head?”

Holding the bottle, he used his good hand to crack the seal. “Annoying.”

“You want to lay down with a cold pack?”

Swallowing, he shrugged a shoulder. “Maybe in a bit.”

“Okay. Need anything?”

Din pressed the cold bottle against his forehead. Closing his eyes, he shook his head carefully.

“Alright.” Standing back up, she kissed the top of his head. “Give me a high sign if that changes.” Her hand rubbed once over his back, and then she went to continue her work at the counter.

“Are you hungry, _ad’ika?”_ Rherr asked his kid. The child must not have answered because Rherr inquired, “...hm?”

Eyes closed, Din grumbled, “He’s always hungry.”

“Children usually are.” He picked up the smile in her voice and smirked as Rherr asked, “Can he have eggs?”

Din cracked an eye open from behind the bottle. “He’s not allergic if that’s what you’re asking.”

“Does he like them?”

“Aside from ration bars, he’ll eat pretty much anything you put in front of him.”

Rherr made a face. “I think everyone shares the same opinion when it comes to ration bars.” He got up and went over to the fridge. “Pari, you still got any of that egg salad left?”

“Egg salad?” She looked over, “What made you choose that?”

“Because I’m hungry and I want some.”

“Well, okay, sure. Top shelf in the back.”

Rherr went to work. By the time Din pulled the bottle away from his head and took another drink, the guy already had a couple of sandwiches made and was cutting the kid’s into quarters.

Din had to smile. Rherr might not have any biological children of his own, but it was pretty clear he’d been there with Sash since the very beginning. It was an unquestionable fact that she was his kid too. Watching how he was with his foundling, Din knew the Mandalorian from this snowy Jakku was already screwed. His kid would have him wrapped around one of his tiny little claws by the end of the day.

The front door opened and then slammed shut. “Sash...” Pari reprimanded as Din’s eyes involuntarily squeezed shut. He heard the girl come up beside him. “Sorry, Din.”

Rubbing his hand along his brow, he looked at her, “Don’t worry about it.”

“Regardless, she knows not to slam the doors.”

Sash made a face, “She’s right. I forget sometimes.”

He tried not to squint from the light in the room as he looked at her, “If that’s the worst thing you forget about, then you’re doing better than most.”

She smiled at him as he took a drink. Then she took a sniff. “Somebody has egg salad, don’t they?”

Using the hand tipping back his drink, Din pointed at the two eating at the island.

Plopping down in the chair Pari had left pulled out, Sash announced, “It smells like pond scum in here.”

“Stop standing downwind of yourself,” Rherr popped off around a mouthful of his sandwich.

A sharp snort passed through Din as he choked on his juice. Coughing into his arm, he felt Sash patting his back as he laughed.

~~

Later, after the kids had gone to bed and after Rherr had taken off to head back to the Base, Din slipped out of the house. The snow from the day crunched under his boots as he crossed the back porch and descended the short set of steps. The cold air pushed against his face, making it sting a little as he walked around the side of the house.

The snow was still falling. The pace in which it continued to cover the ground had eased substantially as the size of the flakes had diminished to resemble little grains of salt rather than the puffy, miniature snowballs that had showered down earlier.

Walking into the front yard, the only sound out that night was the snow that continued to crunch under his feet. Everything always became silent when it snowed. Soundwaves were absorbed by the fluffy white that covered the ground and hung from the trees. The world itself seemed to become still, and Din stood still along with it and just breathed.

Face tipped toward the dark sky, Din thought about what Cara had told his kid. She would stand under the stars and look up, thinking of him doing the same and maybe they would be lucky enough to be doing it at the same time. He couldn’t see the stars that night, not with another band of snow showers forecasted to roll in. He knew they were there, behind the clouds, and he wondered if he was lucky enough to be searching them out the same time as Cara did back in his old galaxy.

Din drew in a deep settling breath of the night air. It smelled clean and, oddly enough, held a tint of sweetness to it. Exhaling slowly, the security light from the barn was bright enough to reveal the billowy cloud of white vapor that pushed from his lungs. It hung in the air for a brief moment and then dissipated.

Watching it evaporate into the cold, dry air, Din allowed himself to recognize the odd mixture of sadness and relief pulsing through his heart. He was going to miss his old home. As raw and fucked up of a place as it was, he was going to miss it. He was going to miss Cara—already did. He would _not_ miss being on the run every damn day. After living on an adrenaline high for the last fifteen months, it was taking him a little bit to figure out how to come down from it. He’d figure it out.

Looking down to the lower pasture, Din picked out the small ground lamps, peering out from beneath the snow, that outlined the landing pad where the _Razor Crest_ rested. He thought about that first night and his focus switched to the barn. He took in the high drift piles pressed against the red doors and thought about what had happened behind those doors. What he had endured and the lengths Pari had gone to in order to help him, regardless of his beliefs that tied her hands to a point. He also thought about what happened behind those doors around a week ago. It was a much more enjoyable memory.

Din was rolling the details of it through his mind when he picked up the sound of crunching snow coming up from behind him. He had to consciously halt the knee-jerk reaction to spin and pull out his blaster. Instead, he decided to prove to the part in his mind screaming at him to go for a quick offensive, that the action was unneeded here. He was safe here. Pari had told him that more than once over the past two weeks. He just needed time to get his mind to agree.

The footsteps closed in on him and he couldn’t stop himself from tensing, but closing his eyes, he did stop himself again from moving. His heart rate was picking up, and his breathing went along for the ride. Still, Din listened and remained still. He forced himself to remain still as they stopped beside him, and he didn’t allow the flinch to manifest when a blanket landed over his shoulders.

“You seem hell-bent on becoming a frozen statue for my front yard.” Pari’s voice caressed past his ear as she tucked herself under the blanket beside him.

Din opened his eyes and looked at her. She was gazing up at him. He registered a flicker of concern in her eyes, but that was drowned out by something entirely different as she reached up to touch his face. Grinning, she moved her hands higher and pressed them against his ears. “Feeling a little frosty, there, Din.” Her hands dropped down to his hips. “You should have grabbed a coat before coming out here. Rherr’s got a few on the rack in the kitchen.”

He smirked. “The armor has heat plates. The cloak is thick and long. Not once was I in danger of succumbing to the cold.”

Drawing herself a step closer, the arm in the sling got trapped between them as her front pressed up against his. “Let me feel this climate-controlled armor you talk about.”

Din grinned down at her. He knew the majority of the heat would be contained between the _beskar_ and his body. Still, metal was a conductor, and when he wrapped his arm around her, pressing her close, she practically sang, _"Hey..._ that’s kind of nice.”

She looked up, and Din leaned down. Stopping inches apart, he took a minute for his gaze to soak up the beautiful smile aimed his way. He looked at the loveliness he had trapped in his embrace and took in the dancing affection in her hazel eyes. Dipping a little further, Din’s hand slid to her face and tipped it up as he closed his mouth over hers.

Pari’s eyes slid shut over the kiss, and his own followed close behind. For a moment, they stood still in the frozen silence of the night. Feeling her hands ghost over his sides and then settle against his hips, a rush of thoughts and emotion surged up from deep inside of him, and he deepened the kiss. 

A soft, delicate little moan escaped Pari. It got breathed into his mouth and stoked the fire already burning inside of him. It had been too long since they had been able to be intimate in the way they both desired. Pressing her against himself still, Din’s hand moved to the back of her head. Angling it to the side, made her breathing hitch. Sucking on the delicate patch of flesh behind her ear made her moan out loud.

“Din...” Pari groaned as he drew her earlobe into his mouth. He hummed around it in response and felt her knees give just a little bit. “Din. Stop.”

Pulling his mouth off her ear, he swiped his thumb over the moisture left behind. Rubbing his nose along her, he kissed her mouth. “Why?”

She smiled against his lips. “Because you’re bringing me to a point where I might not be able to stop.”

A soft laugh pulled from him. It was the same words he’d told Pari the first night they had taken that ultimate plunge of intimacy. Laying his face beside hers, Din told her, “Damn. You cracked my secret objective.”

“No, Din.”

Pari had aimed for stern, he could tell. It was cute. “So, that’s a yes?” Pari pulled back and gave him a look to match her tone. He smiled, still cute.

“You’re recovering. So, no.”

“I’ll be recovering for some time. Are you planning to keep me on bread and water for weeks?”

She tried not to smile as she switched tactics and went for the dramatic edge. “You almost _died.”_

“But I didn't.”

“You're all broken, and duct-taped together, Din. No.”

“I feel okay—mostly.”

Pari grinned. “That's the drugs.”

He grinned back, “Your point?”

Pari looked off into the distance with an indistinguishable grumble. Shaking her head, she turned back, “You’re content to stand out here in the freezing snow and argue this to death, aren’t you?”

Banter pushed aside, that concern she’d tucked away earlier resurfaced and settled into place. Tucking a piece of her hair behind her ear, Din looked down at her. “What did I tell you the day your professor was here?” Her eyes fell closed in defeat.

“Pari.” He urged, and she looked back up at him.

“I _do_ trust you to know your limits.”

“Okay, then.”

Sighing, a pout replaced her concern, and Din offered, “Unless you don’t want to—”

Pari laughed at that. “Kind of the exact opposite problem, thank you very much.”

“Well,” steering them back toward the house, Din settled his arm around her shoulders, “I think we should go back in where it’s warm and see what can be done about fixing this problem.”

Reaching across him, Pari pulled the blanket closed around them. The snow groaned under the tread of their boots as they walked, and Pari said, “I guess it makes sense from a scientific point of view.” Din looked down at her, and she told him, “When a person is... intimate, the brain secretes a healthy dose of oxytocin. It’s a natural pain reliever and muscle relaxer. It quiets stress receptors and brings a feeling of calmness.”

Pulling off the blanket, Pari held the door open for him, and Din stepped into the house. “Makes sense to me.” They walked through the living room as he added, “In fact, it sounds pretty important.”

Pari eyed him warily as they made their way down the hallway. Entering into the bedroom, he told her, “We should probably make it a regular part of my recovery regimen.”

“Don’t push your luck, Djarin,” Pari grumbled as the bedroom door clicked shut.

_The End (for real this time)_

**Translation:**

_ad_ : son

 _ad'ika_ : little one

 _ver'dika_ : Little soldier

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The chapter title is a direct quote from the song Shallow by Lady Gaga and Bradly Cooper. It is Din and Pari's song (or so they tell me).
> 
> Epilogue still to come. Thanks for reading :)


	19. Epilogue

_Roughly two weeks after Din’s final departure from Nevarro._

Wrestling the bothan onboard her ship, Cara weaved when she should have bobbed and the bounty managed to smash his skull into her nose. She was awarded an explosion of pain followed up by a nice stream of blood. She was fairly sure it wasn’t broken—fairly sure.

Fist shooting out, Cara gripped the humanoid’s throat.

Wheezing around the pressure of her grip, the bothan pressed back against the wall of her ship and grinned. Admiring his handiwork, his laugh was breathy, squeaking as it grated through the strangling hold she had on him.

Cara grinned back, “Funny stuff, huh?”

The bounty’s grin spread and she asked, “Know what's even funnier?”

“What?”

The question came at her in a tone that told her he was only amusing her for the moment.

Giving him a half shrug, Cara replied, “Just this.”

Hauling him forward, her knee drove into his groin hard enough to make him sing out a pathetic, high pitched cry. The guy crumpled and she jerked him into place and punched the button to freeze his ass in carbonite. The cloud of steam passed and she cocked her head at the expression of utter agony frozen into his features.

Yup, she’d been right. _So_ much funnier.

Dragging her fist across her upper lip, Cara sneered at the bounty and turned for the cockpit.

Walking through the belly of her modest ship with purpose, Cara glanced at the blinking blue light on her bracer. A holocomm message was waiting for her. It had been going off for the last three hours. When she tried to see who it was from, the only thing it told her was “Unavailable.”

She’s only gotten one other message like that in the past few years—the one Din had sent from whatever new galaxy he’d relocated to. She’d been a ball of anxious energy ever since. Did they make it okay? Were they okay? Was it actually him or someone else delivering bad news? Was the kid going to be on the message? Those thoughts and many more had been running a constant monologue through her head, making it hard to focus on anything else. Hence the bounty getting in that lucky shot on her. Freaking rookie mistake.

Settling into her pilot’s seat, Cara looked at the flashing light again as she brought her ship online. She’d been tempted to watch the message in the field, but no way was she going to do that. Especially not when she had no idea what it would hold for her.

First, she needed to get off this dustbowl of a planet where the asset’s buddies were actively hunting them down.

Her thrusters whined, making the ship vibrate with anticipation and letting her know they were ready. All gauges gave her the right readings and she pulled back on the controls. The ship left the planet’s surface and she punched the booster. The force of acceleration pushed her back against her seat and she made a quick jump into hyperspace.

Downloading the message before she hit the hyperlane allowed her to view it at her leisure. She looked at the blinking light. It pulsed on and off one, two, three more times, and she played the message.

“Greetings.”

Cara blinked. The face that spoke to her was _not_ Din and her gut clenched. Before she could get consumed by her anxiety, the stranger went on to introduce himself.

“My name is Professor Clayton. I have a message for Cara Dune from Din Djarin.” Her eyes slipped shut in relief. If Din actually gave this dude a message for her, then he was at least alive.

Clearing his throat, the older man adjusted the spectacles that sat midway down his nose. Holding out the datapad like his arm wasn’t long enough, he looked down his nose at the screen and continued. “Cara, got a little banged up on the way back, but I’m fine—”

Cara started massaging her temples. The professor continued reading carefully word for word.

“—but, I wanted to let you know that we got here okay. Realized I mentioned the music over here and then we got sidetracked with the photos.”

She tilted her head at the way Din’s thought-train jumped the tracks. Leaning on the armrest, she propped her chin on a fist and sighed as the professor read. “In an effort to relieve you of all that porno cantina music—”

The older man cut off. He frowned. Looking at the recorder, a shy laugh bubbled out of him as he held up his finger, "Sorry. I must have read that wrong."

A knowing smile spread over her face as she watched him look back over the line again.

Adjusting his glasses, he read slower, “...relieve you of all that... porno... cantina..." Cocking his head a little bit, his chuckle came out warm and unsure. "No, that's what it says, all right."

Pulling his glasses an inch down the bridge of his nose, he looked over them at the recorder. "I assume you will know what that means..." He pushed his glasses back up. "Now, let's see..." Finding his place, his hand moved once like he was conducting an orchestra, "Yes. ...cantina music...” Clearing his throat he spoke louder again, “Along with this message, I am sending you the song I intended to show you that night, along with about sixty others that are similar in style. They should be right up your alley.”

“Disclaimer—" The professor chuckled, giving the recording a side glance, "Oh, we're getting really serious now.” Looking back to his datapad, he started one word back."Disclaimer: Immigrant Song by Led Zeppelin; that one is specifically from me. The other sixty were selected by Pari and Rherr. I hold no responsibility for what else gets sent along with this message. Hope you’re good. Enjoy— Din.”

The professor looked back to the recorder, “Well, that concludes the message. The audio files should continue to download for some time. Unfortunately, I do not know how well they will hold together through the interdimensional transfer, but considering the distance, be prepared for them to take up to a few days to complete—maybe longer. This is Professor Clayton, signing off.”

The dusty blue image of the professor blinked into nothing as the message reached its ending point. Cara took a chance to see if Din’s song had made it yet. Considering she’d started downloading the message hours ago, she was hopeful.

Scrolling through the details of the file, a grin spread across her face. Two audio files were waiting for her. She loaded up the first one and listened as the sound of it spread through the cabin. Her grin broke out into a wide smile as the music continued. It was unlike anything she’d ever heard in her galaxy. Nodding along with it, she muttered, “Good call, Djarin.”

If the others were anything like what she was listening to, Cara knew she would be upgrading the audio system on the ship.

Paying attention to the words, Cara could see why the song might have resonated so much with her friend. Thinking about Din and the kid, it made Cara sad, but happy all in one complicated mix of emotions. She missed them, a lot. But knowing they were safe and hopefully content... how could she _not_ be happy about that for them?

Sometimes she wonders if she made the right decision by staying behind. She didn’t usually linger in the thought for too long. The answer always came up with the same result: Yes.

Where she was, what she was doing, this was right for her. Right now this is what she wanted, even if that meant making the sacrifice to say goodbye to two people who managed to worm their way straight into her guarded heart.

And, really, who the fuck knows. Thinking back to what she had told Din’s son that final night a couple of weeks ago, she really did have a piece of herself that felt like maybe, if the universe aligned just right, maybe they would get to see each other again one day. 

Pausing in that thought, Cara turned to you, the reader, and shrugged. “Space magic and shit.” Giving you a wink, she smirked and turned back to the spiraling tunnel of light before her. 

Touching a control on her bracer, Cara cranked the volume and propped her feet up on her dash as she replayed Din’s song. 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!


End file.
